This Is The Way We Are
by timeisfleeting
Summary: The mask of the flesh conceals such beauty as the tangible can never reveal. Do not seek to see, for your eyes may only touch the surface. Only the soul understands. Modernday, eventual EC.
1. Arrival

**This Is The Way We Are**

**Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own the masterpiece. I only play with it. Another modern day phic. **

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**Arrival**

**Christine**

"... So you see, Ms. Daae, until you are of legal age you cannot live on your own. Your parent's will states that in the event of their death, if you are still a minor, your legal guardian is to be Nadir Khan." The man looked up, face carefully schooled to the delicate balance of professionalism and sympathy. The quiet, businesslike room around them was suffocating. Beige. Brown. Relaxing colors. Dull colors, dead colors. The air seemed stagnant with the smell of leather and a stale cup of that morning's coffee that had yet to be thrown out.

She spoke the first words that she had to him in all of the long, tedious hours. "My father's will."

He blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?" She could see his discomfort, plainly he expected her to be uncomprehending and submissive. Just as plainly, he had expected to have to deal with hysterics and histrionics; the secretary hovered outside of the door, armed with tissues and tea.

_My father has peace at last. He won't ever feel pain again. Should I be crying that he won't ever again lay silent and endure pain that cannot be purged with screams? Should I be crying that he never has to wake to the reality of a deteriorating body ever again?_

Apparently she was. She couldn't quite understand it. Death was a natural part of life. Death had been so welcome to her father, she had seen the relief on his face as he passed. He was reunited with her mother, beyond suffering. He was at peace. She couldn't mourn for her father. She could mourn for the fact that she had lost him, that she would never share another moment with him- oh yes, she could mourn for that. But how could she be sorry after months of seeing nothing but pain in his eyes, after watching the lines engrave themselves deeper and deeper in his face, the eyes and mind become clouded and foggy under the influence of drugs that did little to dull the pain? That would be... selfish.

She stared back at him. "My mother has been dead for years, sir. And I am well aware of that the sanctity of the law shall not be lightly put aside. I will contact Mr. Khan. You needn't bother yourself further." He dealt with situations like this every day. It had become impersonal for him to offer condolences, to trade in death. She did not want his false pity. The superficial sympathy he had given her was like sandpaper against her ears.

He looked rather like a landed fish. He still expected her to fall into the traditional role of a hysterical, panicky teenager. She wondered idly if the man treated his own children like this. "If- if you are sure you have this under control, Ms. Daae. I understand that your father's death may have come as something of a shock-"

She gave him a pitying smile. "Don't coddle me, sir. I was well aware of my father's illness. I knew as well as he did what would eventually come to pass. Now, if you'll excuse me." Christine rose, leaving the man behind the desk looking poleaxed. He ran a hand through his hair, graying at the roots. He expected her to behave like a child, and instead...

"If you need any assistance, Ms. Daae..."

"Thank you." she said smoothly. She retained her composure until she reached the parking lot. Once inside the car, she rested her arms against the steering wheel and only then allowed herself to cry.

**Nadir**

Nadir flinched as his phone gave an obnoxious beep. And another.

He flipped open his phone. _Yet another business call... How many years until retirement, now?_ "Hello?"

The voice that issued from his phone, however, was not the voice of a businessman.

"Uncle Nadir?"

He smiled, his boredom instantly dispersed by the clear, sweet voice. "Christine! How are you- and Charles?"

A pause. "Are you sitting down?"

"Christine, what's the matter?" he asked, perplexed. Another long pause.

"Dad passed away. Last night."

Nadir sat down. Hard._ What? What did she say?_ The last time he had seen Charles, the man had been monstrously ill. But Charles was a fighter. Nadir had fully expected him to pull through, to triumph over the disease that ate away at him.

_Charles... my God... I should have been there... _

"Uncle Nadir, are you still there?"

He blinked. Tried to string two thoughts together. "Yes. I'm still here, Christine. I'm so sorry, Christine, I- thank you for telling me. How are you holding up?" Better not to focus on his own emotions now, hers were vastly more important, as his daughter. As he had been her only family.

"Uncle Nadir, that's not all. Since I don't turn eighteen for a while yet, I'm still a minor. Dad had you as my legal guardian, should anything happen to him."

Nadir sucked in his breath, amazed at her poise. Christine had always amazed him, her vivacity, her aspiration, her optimism. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that she was still a child under the law. It was hard not to think of her as an adult, for all her innocence. _Not such a child anymore, I think. Not after this_.

He had always thought it sad that Catherine had never lived to see what a beautiful girl she had given birth to. And now Charles was gone too...

_Charles... _

"It's all right, Nadir." she said softly, kindly. "His pain is at an end. He's with Mom, now."

Nadir was in shock. _Charles, why doesn't she scream or cry or blame you for dying? Why isn't she angry at you for leaving her? _

_Why won't she let me hear her cry?  
_

_How is it that she can forgive you for leaving her behind? _Nadir was struggling with the feelings that Charles' daughter should have been- and wasn't. _He _was the one angry at Charles, angry at him for dying, for giving up. And ashamed that he was thinking those thoughts. Sickened. That he was willing to put Charles through so much suffering for his own comfort. Like a child.

He swallowed. "I'm currently in Europe, Christine. I'm afraid I may not be back for a few weeks. You'll be staying with the man who rents the apartment with me. Just- tell him what you told me. I'll call ahead, make sure he knows you're coming." He tried to retain some measure of control.

He felt her warmth wash over him, reassuring him, calming him. "Thanks, Uncle Nadir. It'll be okay, I promise." He was not her uncle- not in a blood sense, but somehow the knowledge didn't matter at the moment. Somehow, he needed to hear that endearment right now. She was his last connection to Charles. _Oh, my friend... _The scent of summer grass seemed to drift lazily past him.

He felt his eyes burn. "You're welcome, Christine. Please- excuse me." His voice shook, he ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"Goodbye, Uncle Nadir."

"Goodbye, Christine."

He ended the call. Tried to keep hold of his composure as he dialed another number.

"Hello?" The reply was irritated. "Nadir, have you any idea what time it is?"

"You remember Charles Daae, don't you?" Nadir fought to keep his voice steady.

"The violinist? Nadir, what's going on?"

"He passed away last night. His daughter is coming to stay- I'm in his Charles' will as her guardian. She's seventeen."

Sympathy was not the man's forte, Nadir knew. But his voice had softened. "I'm sorry, Nadir. I'll keep an eye on her for you. How are you?"

Nadir breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Thank you." He deliberately ignored the last question, and the man took the hint.

"What is her name?"

"Christine. Her name is Christine." He closed the phone, unable to take another moment of conversation. Nadir buried his head in his hands.

And let himself mourn.

**Christine**

She stood on the doormat, all her worldly belongings, the ones she'd wanted to keep, anyway, fit into two suitcases. It was amazing how little material things she had collected over the years. She tapped the bell lightly.

_Poor Nadir. He doesn't seem to realize that Dad is happier now. _Or- maybe he did, but was having trouble letting go. They'd been together since college, had worked together for years. Nadir had been the best man at her parent's wedding. He was her godfather.

It hurt Christine, to know that he was gone. That she would never again hear the beautiful strain of the violin in the night, lulling her to sleep, that he would never again ask her to accompany him, giving her voice wings with the nostalgic notes. It hurt more than she would acknowledge.

At the same time, she could not help but be relieved. The glazed look of pain in her father's eyes was gone. He had died smiling. The dark eyes had held only joy. The skeletal hand had tightened briefly on hers, she saw tears well in his eyes. She could hear the thought running through his head- _it's over._

She couldn't deny him peace- he deserved all that and more, for the suffering he had been forced through. The deadly bout of illness that had held him fast in dark, creeping chains. That had reduced him to a skeleton in his last months, a mere wraith of the laughing, lively man who had carried her on his shoulders as a child.

She had so many memories of him- younger and stronger. Vacations by the seaside, where he taught her to swim. Where the salty spray made his eyes sparkle and he would race her down through the shallows in pure exhilaration, the frothy waves breaking around their ankles and the gulls scattering in their wake.

Memories of Christmas, where he had taken her ice skating for her very first time at age five. The giant tree he had insisted on decorating, holding her up so she could perch the gently smiling angel and her shining star on the highest bough. Ripping open the wrapping paper with her, with no decorum or solemnity. Leaving the paper scattered across the floor as he read whatever book it was he had given her.

Simple things. Her sixteenth birthday, where he had thrown her a surprise party, leading her to it with clues all around the house.

Sitting in the audience as she auditioned for play after play. Smiling broadly at his daughter, radiant on the stage. Encouraging her never to stop, acting as both stern teacher and proud parent.

Nursing her through her first heartbreak.

He alone had seen past the mask of a free spirit that was only half of her, the only half that she presented to the rest of the world. To the sensitive girl behind, the girl who still longed for her mother.

Seeing the coffin lowered into the grave had hurt. Despite that she knew he was better off. Despite that he was in a place where pain would never touch him again. She had felt a part of herself lowered into that grave with the heavy coffin. Sinking into cold, impersonal earth.

And now here she was, standing outside a strange apartment, waiting for a strange man to open the door.

_Nadir didn't even tell me his name. _Not that this greatly bothered her. In the face of all that had happened, why would she worry about mere names?

She heard footsteps approaching, looked up as the door opened.

And froze.


	2. Adolescence

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated music/characters. (sigh) Darn. Nor do I own the song 'White Flag' by Dido.**

**Lee **

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**Adolesence**

**Christine**

"Yes?"

She blinked. A lean, dark-haired man scowled down at her. Literally, down; he was head and shoulders taller than her. The sculpted lips were set in a thin line of annoyance, brows arched. Intensely blue eyes seemed to stare right through her. His arms were crossed impatiently.

She arched a brow back at him. "I am Christine Daae. Nadir did tell you-"

"You're his goddaughter then?" The man cut her off. It didn't seem as though he were dismissing her. It was just the way he was.

"Yes, and you are?"

"Erik Destler. His roomate." She wondered absently if he ever spoke in longer sentences. She grasped his hand and shook it, he looked mildly surprised by the gesture before he smoothed over the expression.

"Nice to meet you." she smiled. He opened the door wider, stepped aside to let her in and caught up one of her suitcases.

"I'll show you where you're staying." Christine wondered what Erik Destler was to Nadir. She had never met him before, had only the vaguest sensation that she knew him. Nadir and he weren't together. Nadir was, for all his sensitivity, far from that end of the sexual spectrum. And Erik... he didn't put out those vibes at all. She didn't know what he exuded. It was dark, magnetic, spoke of rivers underneath the ice, wildfire beneath the smoke.

The apartment was impressive. Easily as big as her house. Skylights everywhere, floor to ceiling windows pouring in light. High ceilings, a modern, spartan approach to the decor. She looked through the doorway of the room Erik led her through. And breathed a sigh of relief.

It was warm, welcoming. Pale furniture, done in warm golds and soft yellows. It breathed relaxation, she absorbed the golden glow of the room like sunlight. There was another door, presumably to a connecting bathroom. Sheer, white curtains were drawn back to reveal a hazy view over a lush park. She turned. He was standing in the doorway, almost as though waiting for a reaction. She let a smile spread across her face, trying to draw one from him. "It's beautiful. Thanks, Erik."

Again that brief flash of surprise, quickly concealed. "You're welcome." He led her out of the room, gesturing to various parts of the apartment. "The kitchen and the bathroom are to your left, the living room is beyond that. Down that hallway-" he nodded to their right. "- are Nadir's rooms and mine. I realize that you are going to be living here for some time Ms. Daae, and I ask you to respect my privacy." His eyes pierced her. There was a warning behind the words. She sensed that he guarded his privacy fiercely.

"Christine." she said, breaking the tension before it could build. "Call me Christine. Ms. Daae makes me feel old."

He nodded, seemingly distracted as he headed down the right-hand hallway. Christine looked after him. He looked over his shoulder. "Did you want something, Christine?"

"Nope. I'm just going to go unpack now." He turned back, continued down the shadowy hallway.

It was then Christine realized that he had been wearing a mask. An odd, white half-mask that covered most of the right side of his face, from hairline to lip.

She hadn't even noticed it.

**Erik**

He hadn't expected this. He'd been fully prepared to hide in his part of the apartments in order to avoid, as he'd put it so charmingly mentally- 'a prying, superficial teenager.'

The girl on the doorstep was the last thing he'd been expecting. For one thing, she looked quite natural. No half-inch layer of make-up, hair swept up, not tortured in some new idiocy that passed for fashion these days. None of the clothes he would have expected a teenager or a hooker to wear. Far from the obnoxious teenager he'd been dreading. She was confident, but not overbearing. Intelligent, but not elitist. Wistful, but not passive. Warm and welcoming, like sunshine, a warm breeze in summer.

For another, she hadn't even appeared to notice the mask. True, she had stared for a second, but for once, someone wasn't staring at the mask.

They were staring at him.

And then there was the casual, open way she'd taken and shaken his hand with her own, slender, firm. Erik knew he didn't exactly promote that kind of familiarity with his dark, brooding looks and abrasive mannerisms. Hell, he intimidated grown men.

And yet she was completely fearless, disturbingly trusting as he had shown her to her room. A level of trust he would have thought foolish to the point of stupidity in anyone else. But not her. He had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling that she already had some measure of him, and accepted him.

He wasn't at all sure how he felt about her calling him 'Erik'. Maybe it was a teenage thing, trying to show an adult that they were equals, not superiors and inferiors.

Somehow that didn't ring true. She acted like anything but a spoiled teenager. Headstrong, yes, he could tell. Rebellious, if he ever decided to push her. Which he wouldn't. He glanced down briefly at his hands, stroking the piano keys almost of their own accord, coaxing a melody from the ivory and black keys.

She reminded him of Charles. He had met the man only briefly, exchanging music with him. He had seen Christine too, a child of ten. Dancing down the hallway, singing at the top of her youthful, unrestrained voice. A slip of a child, sparkling with life.

He wondered if she still sang.

Erik turned as he heard his name called, rose and went to the door.

She stood at the end of the hall, framed in a wash of light. "Erik? I took the liberty of making dinner. Chicken. It'll be ready in ten minutes or so. Hope you don't mind."

She was carefully staying out of 'his' part of the apartment, he noticed. She was backlit by a golden radiance, the dying sunset the floor-to-ceiling windows let in. An aura of light emanated where the rays struck her skin. Her hair was tinged with fire, pale skin lit golden. The dark eyes looked at him inquiringly.

He realized he was staring, recovered. "No, it's perfectly all right. Thank you."

She half-turned, paused and glanced back at him. "You play beautifully." She smiled at him over her shoulder than dissapeared.

He stood in the doorway, looking at the pool of light where she had been.

**Christine**

She moved about unhurriedly in the kitchen. The scent of rosemary, cinnamon and wild rice wreathed the air, a relaxing blend. The clatter of utensils was reassuring, restoring normalacy to the foreign situation. She sang along to the CD player.

_"I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,  
I'll tell you that.  
But if I didn t say it, well I'd still have felt it.  
Where's the sense in that?"_

The scents, so familiar, so home-like, recalled her father with piercing, painful clarity. She closed her eyes, leaned against the door. Her father's face smiled at her behind her closed eyes. The dark-eyed, laughing-eyed man as he had been in her childhood. Dark hair blowing free in the wind as he fixed a tail to a kite for her.

She could hear his laughter ringing faintly in her ears, the scents of summer all around her as she ran downhill, racing the wind, watching the kite soar above her, dipping and flapping in the wind. She felt moisture seep between her closed lids. The bittersweet taste of salt slid down her throat.

"I_ promise I'm not trying to make your life harder _

_or return to where we were."_

Years later, sitting in the audience during her first audition. A shadow in the dark auditorium, a shadow who smiled at her and pressed a silent hand to her shoulder. Her father- who had brought roses, white and smelling of summer, for his daughter, his beloved daughter. Who twirled her about in the antechamber when the casting was announced, laughter ringing as freely as hers.

_"But I will go down with the ship  
and I won't put my hands up and surrender.  
There will be no white flag above my door.  
I'm in love and always will be."_

She remembered the time he had taken her on a fishing trip. Camping out in the wilderness, contemplating the silence of the trees around them. Singing to the brilliant stars that studded the deep blue velvet of the sky as he accompanied her on his violin. She could swear that the wilderness went silent to listen.

His face in the firelight, serene and euphoric. Eyes glowing with reflected starlight as he gazed with pride at his only daughter.

_Dad... oh, I miss you. Is it selfish of me to want you back?_

_"I know I left too  
much mess and destruction to come back again.  
And I cause nothing but trouble, I understand if you can't talk to me again.  
And if you live by the rules of 'it' s over'  
than I'm sure that that makes sense."_

People told her to move on. People told her to mourn him. What should she do? Was it right to need him, to want him to be there to catch her when she fell? Was it right to be happy that he was free of the pain?

_Dad... what would you want me to do?_

_"And I will go down with the ship,  
and I won't put my hands up  
and surrender.  
There will be no white flag above my door.  
I'm in love, and always will be."_

They had been close, he had been both father and mother to her. A friend whose shoulder she could cry on. Someone she could tell all her secrets to. Someone who accepted her unconditionally, loving her without reservation or expectation. She loved him, still loved him. He had meant so much to her- had she ever told him how much?

There was so much she still wanted to say to him. So much she had looked forward to sharing with him. Graduation. Her first big role. Her wedding. Her first child.

_"And when we meet-  
which I'm sure we will,  
all that was there will be distilled.  
I'll let it pass, and hold my tongue.  
And you will think that I've moved on."_

How could she be sure what he had wanted for her? Her father had always told her to follow her dreams wherever they led.

The trouble was- he had been a part of those dreams. She had dreamt of him healing, of seeing her father smile again. To dance with him at her wedding. To hear him play the violin again as she sang.

Where was there to go from here?

_ Dad... send me a sign. Something. Are you there? Are you watching over me from Heaven? Will you send me the Angel of Music, like you promised me? If I only knew._

_"I will go down with the ship,  
and I won't put my hands up and surrender.  
There will be no white flag above my door.  
I'm in love, and always will be."_

Yes. She had to live her dreams. For his sake. For every moment of pain and joy he had endured for her. Her father had given her so much, asked so little in return. She had a promise to fufill. A promise to find happiness. A promise to live her life.

She owed him that much.

_For your sake, Dad. For you._

_"I will go down with the ship,  
and I won't put my hands up and surrender.  
There will be no white flag above my door.  
I'm in love, and always will be."_

She opened her eyes and stared straight into the sky-colored eyes of Erik Destler.

Christine froze for a moment. There was such an intensity in his eyes, something she could not put into words, that recalled birds in flight, a strange stirring in her. He leaned against the doorway, incredibly still, looking at her in something like wonder.

The silence stretched, emotions too strange and fleeting to pin down racing through her. Then he spoke, softly.

"You still sing."

She blinked up at him. "Yes." Then the words registered. "What do you mean... still?"

He smiled faintly. "I met your father once to discuss some music I'd lent him. You were a child. I remember seeing you dancing down the hall, singing."

She looked down, smiled slightly. "I don't remember meeting you."

"You didn't."

"Oh."

The buzzer on the oven announced its existance, making her jump and jangling the strange currents that wove around her. She and Erik both leapt for it.

"Sorry." she panted. "I should have been watching it."

He shook his head. "It's perfectly all right. I'll set the table, shall I?"

"Please."

She studied him, lean, graceful as he opened the cupboard. He didn't even have to stretch to reach anything. He was catlike in his movements, an unconcious grace, a fluidity to them.

He turned, raised an eyebrow, and she realized she was staring. "Would you help me with this?" she asked, attempting to cover up her embarressment.

He took the dish from her hands, brushing her fingers. She fought a rise of sensation that began somewhere near her stomach and traveled up her spine. He seemed perfectly at ease, she wondered how he felt at sharing his home with a teenager.

She didn't feel like a teenager.

Dinner was quiet, Christine was lost within thoughts of her own curiousity about the man across from her. There was something that nagged at the corner of her mind at him. Something both intruiging and almost frightening.

"Your cooking is much better than Nadir's."

She looked up, startled. He gave her a faint smile. She smiled back. "I'm glad you like it. My father does- did - too." Her smile faltered, slipped.

"It's not wrong to mourn him." His eyes were intent on her face.

She offered a shaky smile. "He's better off now. He's not in pain anymore."

"That doesn't mean that you shouldn't miss him."

Something in her flowered, choking her. "Excuse me. I have to-" she broke off as she hurried out.

He watched her go.

**Erik**

_Nadir,_

Your goddaughter arrived today. It is strange to have someone else in the apartment without you here- but at least her cooking is better than yours. How is business going?

_Erik_

He pressed the send button.

**Christine**

_Uncle Nadir,  
_

_I'm at your apartment now. Don't worry, I had a safe trip here. Your roommate is a musician- why didn't you tell me? He also says that I cook better than you do. I believe him._

_Love, Christine_

She pressed the send button.

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**Looong chapter. Hoped you liked. **

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	3. Actuality

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or The Princess Bride**

**Thanks for the reviews- I feel so loved! **

**Lee**

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**Actuality**

**Christine**

She inhaled the fragrance of coffee, enjoying the peace. Dimly, she could hear Erik playing. Christine felt utterly lax, in love with the world. Coffee, combined with listening to the piano through the night as she looked through photo albums of her father and her, eased her. She was ready to live, today at least, as he would have wanted her to.

The doorbell rang, making her jump. _Who on earth? _She wondered. She wandered to the door, coffee in hand, aware that she was still in her pajamas, and not caring at all.

She turned the knob, swung the door inward.

The boy outside started. Christine raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you?" he questioned. His hazel eyes were faintly surprised.

"Nadir Khan's goddaughter. Christine Daae." she was caffienated enough not to be annoyed by his artless query. It was cute, even. "And you are?"

"Raoul DeChagny. I work for Mr. Khan." He pushed a light strand of hair back from his face, shifted. "There are a couple of documents Nadir left here that the office wants to look over. So," he shrugged, smiled charmingly. "I get to play errand boy." His eyes lingered on her face. "I should do it more often."

She smiled faintly, well used to flirtation. Past it, even. It no longer had any great effect on her. The tall, slender boy on the doorstep was harmless, though, she decided. "Come on in, errand boy." She stepped aside to let him in.

**Raoul**

He blinked in surprise when the door opened. He had expected Erik to wave him in with his customary expressionlessness. Instead...

The door opened, revealing a girl about his own age looking at him inquiringly. Her tanktop clung snugly to her body, stray auburn hairs falling from her up-do to frame her face. Her eyes were soft, amber-brown, a smile on her face.

She was attractive, and he was not above a little flirting. Even when he found out she was the boss's goddaughter. It wasn't every day a pretty girl welcomed him into an apartment.

She stepped aside as he walked in, he glanced at her sidelong. "Do you want coffee?" she asked. He smiled. _What the heck. The office can wait. _"Sure." He made his way to Nadir's home office, spotted the folder on the corner of the desk.

Raoul loved having an organized boss.

Catching up the documents, he made his way to the kitchen, where he could smell the coffee brewing.

The girl- Christine- handed him a cup of coffee. It was sweetened and steaming. He offered her a smile. "The interns at the office don't make coffee half as well."

She half-smiled and sipped hers. She looked catlike, eyes closed as steam curled around her face. "It's a gift."

Encouraged, he continued. "How long have you been here, Christine? I don't recall meeting you before."

She looked up at him. "I arrived here yesterday."

"Really? So you haven't been able to get out and see the city? We should fix that." She looked at him appraisingly as he continued smoothly. "I'm having a few friends over tonight for a movie. Want to come?"

**Christine**

She hesitated. Then- her father's voice echoed in her ear. _Don't forget to live, after I'm gone, Christine. _

He was looking at her expectantly, one eyebrow quirked, a sunny smile turned on her.

"Sure." A smile melted across his face, warming his eyes.

"That's great. I'll pick you up later." He set down his cup, giving her a glance under his lashes.

"I'll see you then." As she escorted him to the door, Erik materialized. He looked faintly startled, but unsurprised. Apparently the boy was around here quite often.

"Mr. DeChagny? I didn't hear the bell."

"Hey, Erik. Chris answered it. Why wasn't I told Nadir had a goddaughter?" His eyes flicked back to her, she caught the fleeting wink. "Catch you later, Chris."

Erik looked slightly irritated as the boy floated out the door. "Chris?" he inquired. Christine shrugged. "Don't ask me."

"If you're going to be going out later, try to avoid downtown." She followed him into the kitchen, watched his body relax as he helped himself to coffee.

"Don't worry. I'm sure his neighborhood is safe and there will be plenty of people." She smiled. "It should be fun." Her brows drew together as he leaned back against the counter, looking ruffled. "Do you and he not get along?"

Erik shrugged noncommittally. "He and I are very different. He finds me cold and standoffish. I find him flippant and shallow."

Her eyebrows raised. Whatever else you could say about him, Erik was honest. "So what do you do for fun around here? Since you don't seem to join in on the movie-going?"

His lips twitched and he looked amused for some reason. "Have you never seen Nadir's movie collection?"

Her features suffused with humor. "I've only heard the legend."

"Believe me, the reality outweighs the story." he said dryly.

She laughed. "I'll bet it does!" Dusk had fallen when she heard the expected knock at the door. Christine gave herself one last glance in the mirror. She had opted for semi-casual, dark jeans and a red, long-sleeved shirt. She corrected a smudge of eyeliner and made her way to the door.

Raoul stood on the doormat, flashing a charming smile. "Hey, Chris. Ready for some hard-core movie-watching?" He slung an arm around her shoulders as she stepped out into the brisk air-conditioning. She tensed, fought it. _What's the harm?_

He didn't appear to notice. He kept her laughing with anecdotes of college life while his car purred along the roads, Raoul enjoying the rush of speed. She leaned back into the warm leather and let herself relax. It was comforting to know she could still enjoy laughing about college escapades and upbeat music blasting from the radio.

Raoul brought the car to a smooth stop in the lot. "Luxury apartments. Live like a king on a college budget." he proclaimed, his voice over-dramatized in irony.

She felt a smile tug at her lips. His apartment was exactly what she would have expected of a college boy, although- thankfully!- somewhat cleaner. Small, comfortably cluttered. The newest game console had been left on, there was phone numbers for a variety of take-out restaurants on the refrigerator. A six-pack of unopened soda rested on the counter.

He freed one, popped the tab, held it out to her. "Soda?"

She accepted it. "Thanks." She glanced around in confusion. "Raoul, where are your friends? Are they running late?"

He smiled, eyes downcast in something like embarrassment. "Chris-"

Her fingers tightened on the can. Whatever he had to say, she had a feeling that she wouldn't much like it.

"I just asked you here. I thought maybe you wouldn't accept if you thought it was just us." He looked at her beseechingly, though she could still see the flicker of mischief in his eyes. "Don't be mad at me, Chris, please? I know it was stupid of me, can we just forget about it and relax?"

She felt disbelief and a ripple of cold go through her. He turned an imploring face toward her. She looked away. "I'm not angry." _I feel manipulated, maybe, but..._ She stared dead into the hazel eyes. "But I'm not thrilled with you either"

"I know I shouldn't have done it, but-"

Christine sighed. She did not want to ruin whatever could be salvaged of this. She should give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he really had been nervous. "Let's just enjoy the movie, Raoul."

He smiled and it was like sunlight through the clouds. "Thanks, Chris."

He seemed to realize the boundaries, for he did not attempt to touch her during the movie. She herself was simply trying to maintain a friendly distance. Fortunately enough, the movie was a comedy.

As the credits rolled, she leaned her head back against the couch. "So what did you think?"

"Of the movie? I like the director, personally. I've got a few of his works."

"You don't think there was any deeper meaning to the film?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know I'd brought home a philosopher."

She smiled half-mocking. "Surprise."

He threw back his head and laughed. "I never went for the whole 'deeper meaning' idea. Deep thoughts just aren't my forte. I'll leave that to Socrates and Aristotle."

Christine shook her head, exasperated and amused at his mercurial manner. "So what is your forte then, errand boy?"

"Being charming enough that gorgeous, gracious girls will forgive me for tricking them into seeing a movie with them." He paused at her raised eyebrows, eyes sparkling with humor. "I think it's a pretty redeeming feature"

She shook her head yet again. "You are something else." She yawned, glanced at the clock. "Is that the time?"

He grinned. "Not much of a night owl, are we?"

"Nope." she admitted. "I get tend to bite off heads if I don't get my beauty sleep."

He rose. "You don't need beauty sleep, Chris. I told you- you're gorgeous."

"I'm not so gorgeous on five hours of sleep." she warned. He sighed.

"To the car it is, then."

Traffic was all but nonexistent. He smiled at her as they pulled into the complex, and hiked up the stairs, pulled her into a one-armed hug that she returned after a moment's hesitation. "Thanks for putting up with me, Chris. Care to do it again sometime?" His eyes were hopeful on hers.

She smiled in spite of herself. "Maybe."

He sighed dramatically and gave her a woebegone look. "You break my heart."

He startled a peal of laughter from her. "You should go on stage." He gave her a wicked smile.

"So I've always thought. See you around, Chris."

**Raoul**

He watched her go inside, casting him a smile over her shoulder, chestnut eyes gleaming. Auburn curls had escaped their constraints to tumble around her face.

He felt the sudden urge to brush them away.

**Christine**

She had no sooner closed the door than she collapsed back against it. A sinking feeling swept through her and curled her fingers against the cold wood.

Raoul was sweet. Endearingly so. She got the impression that few people disliked him.

Had she been younger- had she not seen so much of life and death... His naiveté evoked a longing in her for the past. She wanted to say she was attracted to him, wanted to feel the sweet rush of adrenaline that young lovers did. Wanted to bury herself in the joy of simply being attracted to another human being.

She couldn't. He was, in so many ways, younger than her. Innocent. Naive. He was something that she could have had- once. Something she could brush only faintly in her memories. He was the past, the easiness of her childhood.

She couldn't love the incarnation of yesterday.

**Erik**

He heard voices murmur, the door snick shut. A sigh.

Christine was home. Erik looked down at the scores before him and echoed her sigh. Nothing was coming to him. There was no music in the silence tonight.

She walked into the kitchen, dropped her keys on the counter and collapsed into a chair, resting her head on her arms. "Hey." her voice was subdued. "What've you been up to?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Staring at a blank paper for the past hour. Was the movie really that trite?"

She looked up at him, he was startled at the weariness in her eyes. "No. No, it's not that."

He felt an apprehension and an anger creep through his veins, dragging roughly against his nerves. "Did Mr. DeChagny-"

She negated the question before he finished it with a wave of her hand. "No. It's just..." She seemed to pull herself together, sitting up and raking a hand through her hair. "I just need a pick-me-up. I'll go look through Nadir's collection. Do you want popcorn?"

He fought a rise of incredulity. "Do I have this correct? You are going to watch another movie after the last one put you in such a lovely mood?"

She gave him a wry smile. "No. _We're_ going to watch a movie. It's what girls do to make themselves feel better after a long day if there's not a spa handy." She gestured around the apartment. "And since there are no other girls here and tradition dictates that you have someone with you to help cheer you up, well..."

He felt a smile tug at his mouth at her casual whimsy. "If you like." She smiled, he saw her shoulders drop as she relaxed.

"I'll go pick a movie then, shall I?"

She was sprawled on the floor when he entered, head pillowed on her arms. She glanced up at him as he settled on the couch, clicked the remote.

He raised an eyebrow at her selection. "The Princess Bride?"

She smiled. "It's a classic."

He couldn't argue with her there. Even if it was a bit light for his taste, he could appreciate the artistry of it. He lay back and let the sound wash over him.

"So."

He watched the credits roll, feeling pleasantly weary. "At the risk of sounding adolescent, so what?"

She turned and looked at him. She was utterly relaxed, the tension drained from her entirely. "What do you think of it?"

"As what? An adaptation of the book or a film in its own right?"

"No." she paused, countenance contemplative. "For instance, the characters. Who they are, what they represent. What motivates them. Like Westley."

Erik dropped his head to the back of the couch. A teenager wanting to discuss philosophy? She surprised him.

Than again, she was Nadir's goddaughter. He supposed this was one of the lesser surprises she had in store.

She was looking at him expectantly. "Love." She looked distinctly dissatisfied, so he elaborated. "The desire to be Buttercup's ideal. He outwits every enemy he comes up against, even manages to win some of them over to his side. He survives torture and death. In short, becomes the ideal man."

"As opposed to the competition. The Prince who creates a war for his own amusement and plans to murder his trophy wife and throw his land into turmoil so he can distract himself from boredom. A self-absorbed coward."

"And the woman in question?"

"Lives only for love too. She doesn't care about what happens to her after he dies, but she promises she won't ever love another man. And then she gives herself up for Westley's sake after they escape the Fire Swamp. After her 'wedding', she tries to commit suicide because she can't be married to the man who killed her lover."

"Whose reason's do you agree with?" He was beginning to enjoy this debate, quiet and reflective as it was.

"None of them, really. I think Buttercup's attempted suicide was melodramatic.

" He blinked._ Not so much a hopeless romantic._ "Why do you say that? She was faced with the alternative of living out her days with the man who had killed her lover." Not that he entirely agreed with the heroine's attempt at action. He was only interested in seeing how Christine defend herself.

She shrugged. "That's either-or reasoning. She could have taken revenge on him, she was in a position to harm him. She could have run."

"I don't think she had it in her to do either. That simply wasn't the way she was. It wouldn't have occurred to her."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I think I have to concede on that point."

Erik smiled. "Then I think I'll leave on that note."

"While you're winning the debate?" she asked, a teasing smile tugging at her mouth. She replaced the movie, turned off the TV.

He returned the smile faintly. "Exactly so, Christine." The desire to compose began to stir and he made his way to his music room.

Her laughter trailed behind him.

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**Another long chapter. What do you think? **

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**Lee **


	4. Anguish

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or the associated music/characters. Nor do I own the song 'Broken Vow'... or Josh Groban for that matter. Thanks for the fantastic reviews, 32 in three chapters- I'm overwhelmed, touched and awed. Thank you all so much.**

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee**

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**Anguish**

**Erik**

Two people. Smiling, embracing. Faces turned toward each other, entirely ignorant of the camera. Her eyes, the green of sunlight through leaves, half-veiled as she looked up at him. The secret, laughing look that passed between them. His hands lingering delicately on her waist as she tilted her face up to his. Light and dark hair mingling in an unseen breeze.

If he closed his eyes, he could still remember that day. The air had been alive with the scent of summer. The air had been lit with fireflies as though the stars themselves had fallen from the sky. A languid, sultry night filled with the sounds of cicadas and laughter.

Paradise. He could still remember the light touch of her hands on his, like a kiss of sunlight. The fragrance of jasmine that clung to her sunkissed skin. The silken feel of her pale hair against his cheek. The way she would tilt her head back to look at him with dancing verdant eyes. The low lilt of her voice, like a distant waterfall. The taste of the full mouth, red as summer carnations on his. Warm, with the slow sweetness of honey. A nostalgia, a desiring, seeped through him at the thought.

He slammed the photograph facedown, a sick rush of guilt, anger, rejection, overtaking him._ What the hell is wrong with you, Erik? _He closed his eyes, remembering the night his paradise collapsed around him in flames. _Forget her. Forget all of it._

_ Forget._

_"Erik?" _

_He turns, smiles. She stands there in the moonlight, clinging to the doorway. He feels the it fade from his face as he takes in the wide-eyed way she's looking at him, almost fearful, the way her hands are trembling. Her mouth quivers. He turns, goes to her. "Maya? What is it- what's the matter?"_

_ She doesn't look at him._

Erik ran his fingers across the glossy piano keys. They were cold. In the silence they felt almost dead.

_"Tell me his name; I want to know  
the way he looks and where you go.  
I need to see his face, I need to understand.  
Why you and I came to an end."_

The keys warmed like a living thing under his hands and began to breathe music.

And pain.

_"Erik... I've been seeing someone else."_

_ He can't speak. He stumbles back a step. "What do you mean?"  
Her eyes are veiled as she looks down at her left hand. At the engagement ring encircling her finger. "I can't go through with this, Erik.'  
_

_'I love him."_

He felt something in him reopen, bleeding. A wound that four years could not heal. A wound that he remembered each night he reached out and she wasn't there. Each morning he opened his eyes and did not see her face beside his. _Maya, Maya. Why?_

_"Tell me again, I want to hear  
who broke my faith in all these years.  
Who lays with you at night while I'm here all alone,  
remembering when I was your own."_

_Maya_. He closed his eyes, breath searing his lungs. He was cold, so cold. Sometimes it seemed that his body would fade and leave only the music. Sometimes he was almost willing for it to happen, for his body to dissipate into the mists and the melody of the night. _Why, Maya, why?_

_"Who is he?" He wants to lash out like a wounded animal, to give some voice to the torment inside. To let her know what she was doing to him. Inside... he feels something shatter, releasing a slow flow of a burning, heavy substance. Inside...  
_

_... something is dying.  
_

_"Erik-" she interrupts him. He grabs her shoulders, her eyes fly up to his. "Who is he, Maya!" The green, star-filled eyes flood with tears. "Erik, you're hurting me!" He releases her as though she had burned him. "I'm hurting you, Maya?" A bitter, breathy laugh forces itself out of him. Oh, God, the irony of it! He feels a hand at his arm, her eyes are filled with pity. _

_He jerks away from her. "I don't want your pity, Maya!"_

It seeped through him, a darkness that the music could not dispel. It conquered the sound pouring from him, suffusing the room in plaintive agony. He lost himself in it as it engulfed his senses until there was nothing but the music.

_"I let you go,  
I let you fly.  
Why do I keep on asking why  
I let you go  
now that I've found a way to keep, somehow,  
more than a broken vow?"_

Nothing but the memories.

_She wavers, backing away from him. "Erik- please." _

_He stares at her, sure he's dreaming. Sure it's a nightmare, that he'll wake and find her beside him._

_But it isn't_

Four years. Four long years void of sunlight, now that she was gone. Four years living in shadow and darkness. Four years of bleeding. His only companion, music. The only thing that kept him sane. That covered the pain.

_"Tell me the words I never said.  
Show me the tears you never shed.  
Give me the touch, the one you promised to be mine.  
Or has it vanished for all time?"_

Four years of night.

_"What did I do, Maya?"_

_ Her arms cross over her chest as though she's cold, clinging to herself. Her face is flushed with shame. "It's not you, Erik-"  
_

_"Is it this?" he asks, touching the mask. She protests quickly, too quickly and he feels raw, something searing his spirit. The infection of his face begins to spread, consuming him, ravaging his soul until there is no distinction between the two. _

_Until he is fully a creature of Hell._

A fresh wave of loathing broke over him. At her, at himself. At whatever had made him this way. This _thing._

_What did I do to deserve this? _

_What the hell did I do! Why did you do this to me? _He's wasn't even sure who he was asking. He had long since abandoned his faith. If there had been a God, Erik Destler would not have been born like this. Would not have lived like this.

Would not have wished for death that day.

_"I let you go,  
I let you fly.  
Why do I keep on asking why  
I let you go  
now that I've found a way to keep, somehow,  
more than a broken vow?"_

His voice resounded around the room, a ceaseless, anguished question. It filled the emptiness, than faded, leaving him alone once more.

_"When did this happen?" He is the one who can't look at her now. His voice is soft, dying away into the silence.  
_

_"Sometime after... after my birthday." She sounds relieved at his subdued voice. _

_He remembered that night. The night she had blown out twenty-one candles, her eyes meeting his above the flames as the laughing crowd told her to make a wish. _

_ The night he had held her hair back for her and the morning he had stroked the pounding head. She had smiled weakly when he told her he had done the same thing last year. _

_ Now it fades as she speaks. "Erik, it wasn't your fault-"_

_No._ He thought bitterly. It wasn't his fault. Who asked to be born a monster?

_"I close my eyes  
and dream of you and I  
and then I realize there's more  
to love than only bitterness and lies.  
I close my eyes."_

Who asked to be born a monster?

_His eyes are bleak on hers. She moves toward him, he freezes. He feels her arms go around him. He wants to drown in the sensation, immerse himself in the familiar warmth. It is so easy to pretend that everything is normal, that she still loves him. _

_Until he remembers that it is only pretending.  
_

_He shoves her away from him roughly. "Don't. Maya, just- don't."  
_

_Her eyes meet his, endless and grieving. Her voice is a whisper. "If that's what you want."_

The moonlight flooded his music room as it had so many years ago. He could almost see her in the doorway, her green eyes speaking a lament. Paled in the silver light, tears shining like a river under starlight.

_"I'd give away my soul to hold you  
once again, and  
never let this promise end."_

And then he looked again, and she was gone. Dissolved into the night, into a corner of his mind and heart where only shadows reach. God, God what he'd give to have her back. To erase the long and lonely years after she left. To light the darkness he had allowed to engulf him. Where was she, the slender woman who had held herself against him, had seen beneath the mask and had not shied from what lay underneath? Where was the woman who had held him as he trembled under her touch?

_Maya..._

Where was the woman who had loved him?

_"I can't do this, Erik." He looks up as her fingers go to her left hand. As she twists off the ring that shines like sunlight. She holds out her hand, it lies there, gleaming and cold. Her hand shakes. He doesn't move. _

_ She lets the ring drop, a falling star. It hits the floor with a ringing sound that resounds through him. The silver ring sparkles like a spilt tear, like shattered glass. He simply stares at it._

_ "I'm sorry."_

The piano pounded through the night. A requiem that swept him up in its mourning. _Why aren't I dead? Shouldn't my body have died as well, after that night?_ But he was alive. He knew it by the torment that burned its way up his throat, that stung against his cheeks.

He knew it because something inside of him was still bleeding.

_"I let you go,  
I let you fly.  
Now that I know, I'm asking why  
I let you go,  
now that I've found a way to keep, somehow,  
more than a broken vow."_

His voice rose in a crescendo, giving voice to the broken-winged thing inside of him. The music swelled around him, he lost himself for a moment in the sound. For a moment, four years of darkness were amplified, condensed into a single moment. In a moment, he could hear a lifetime.

_He can't move. She backs away, fades into the darkness of the doorway like an illusion. He feels the warmth go with her, the sun sink beneath the horizon to plunge him into silent nightfall. _

_He feels cold moonlight on his skin. His fingers make their way tentatively up his face to touch the mask, he looks into the mirror by the doorway. Something almost inhuman stares back at him. _

_The sound of breaking glass shatters the stillness. His eyes fall downward, at his hand, dripping red, red blood. Sliding down his fingertips to fall to the floor, where the ring lies among broken glass._

"Erik?"

He jerked back to the present. Who was it who interrupted him? Who in their right mind would-

"Erik?"

_Christine. _Her voice was concerned. He turned, saw her at the end of the hallway. Her dark eyes were anxious, she bit her lip. "Is everything all right?"

The pain of the memories still ran through him, he forced back a snapping retort, instead schooling his voice to remote coolness. "Did you want something, Christine?"

She raked a hand through her hair. "Are you sure you're all right? You sounded-"

"I'm fine." he cut her off brusquely. "Will you go now?"

She flinched. He felt a rush of vindictive pleasure at spreading his torment. At sharing the pain.

Then- _Oh, God. _The fierce enjoyment was doused by self-loathing. He looked away from the startled eyes. _What's wrong with you, Erik?_

"Erik-" she tried again. Her voice was hesitant, apprehensive.

"Just go." he said softly.

He heard her footsteps fade away. Bile rose in his throat.

_What kind of monster am I?_

**Christine**

She couldn't get it out of her head. She had been drawn by the melody, so pained, so tormented. What had caused that angelic voice to be so suffused with grief?

What dark things had shadowed that pure voice?

She stood at the end of the hallway. The door was open, a figure by the piano, fingers flying over the keys in fervent passion, voice rising in a crescendo. Christine closed her eyes, feeling the sound go through her soul. Her mind thrilled to the sound, almost as though she had entered some half-remembered dream. She felt tears start at the corners of her eyes, a bittersweetness in her mouth. It was beautiful, but oh, so lonely.

The music faded and his hands stilled. He hung his head, eerily still. The moonlight lent him an effervescence, a surreality. "Erik?" she called. His head whipped around. Suddenly, the worldliness rushed back. "Erik?"

He blinked, seeming surprised to see her there. "Is everything all right?" His eyes were strikingly, blazingly blue. In the vivid light of them she saw a maelstrom. Turbulent, flaming. His voice, however, when he spoke, was distant, almost cold. A perfectly controlled lilt. "Did you want something, Christine?" There were shadows behind the seraphic voice, the brilliant eyes.

There were memories.

Christine took a step forward, reaching out a hand across the distance before running it through her hair. Something in her urged her forward, urged her to the secret and strange man across from her. She fought it. _Give him his peace._ She settled for a gentle inquiry as something inside her twisted. "Are you sure you're all right? You sounded-"

"I'm fine." he interrupted her sharply. "Will you go now?" His eyes are bleak, dangerous. Hypnotic.

If she looked any longer she might drown in them. She shook herself out of her trance. "Erik-" She didn't know what she might say, but she had to speak.

She had to try.

He broke in, more gently this time. His eyes dropped from hers and she stopped trembling. His voice came, quiet and apologetic. "Just go."

She hesitated. There was a compulsion to go to him that warred with the voice that whispered that to do so would set in motion something almost dangerous. Something neither she nor he would be able to halt.

"I'm sorry." she whispered. He gave no sign that he heard her as she left him. She looked back once to see him staring at his hands as they lay limp on the keys, the left side of his face as open as she'd ever seen it. What she saw frightened her. A reflective lament, a guilt-racked shame.

Loss.

Then, with a masochistic hopelessness, the melody began again. She wanted to turn, to go back.

She couldn't.

Now, in her room, she stared out into the moonlit park. What had she heard in that inhuman voice?

_What happened to you, Erik?_


	5. Awry

**Disclaimer: Don't own POTO. ** **But I can hope. **

**Thank you all so much for the reviews. I'm- well, in a state of shock. But shock seems to make me update faster, wouldn't you know it?**

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**Lee**

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**Awry**

**Christine**

She woke. Darkness met her eyes, as though they had been covered with a veil. The palest moonlight painted a pale wash over her bedroom. For a moment, Christine simply listened to the silence. It was comforting and frightening, a total quiet as though she were the only living creature on the earth. It was the sound of solitude.

Her face felt strangely cold. She realized that her cheeks were wet, raised a hand to her eyes tentatively. It came away glimmering in the moonlight. She wondered hazily what had woke her.

Than it all came flooding back.

_"Dad?"_

_ She stood in a perfectly circular summer field, surrounded by the scent of clover, grass and earth, a fresh smell, a growing smell. Light breezes brushed her playfully. The air hummed with the trills of songbirds and the low hums and chirps of insects. Around her, flowers made bright splashes of color against the green all around. Sunflowers and poppies brushed her bare legs, caressing them with silky petals. Dandelions clocks drifted past her, catching on her hair. The sun beat down warmly on her skin until she felt as though she glowed with some strange, magical energy. She tasted summer on her tongue, rich and sweet and ripe. _

_Her father smiled up at her from where he lay on a white blanket spread under the oak tree. He smiled and waved at her, inviting her closer. She went forward with hesitant steps. The man under the oak tree was vibrantly, unquestionably_ alive,_ his dark, deer-like eyes alight with a thousand secret things, his laughter floating freely by her on the warm breeze. He was young and strong, smile full and unrestrained. "Come on, Christine." He waved to her as he had when she was a child, as if he was about to impart what seemed to her young mind one of the great wonders and mysteries of the world.  
_

_She sat beside him cautiously. Above the wind rustled through the oak leaves with a cool whisper. If she listened, she could swear they were saying something just out of her comprehension. Just out of reach. "Dad?" Her voice is almost lost in the birdcalls._

_ His eyes softened. "Look, sweetheart." He lay back against the knotted trunk of the tree, gestured at the field. A look of utter content passed over his face. "Isn't it beautiful?"  
_

_Christine started as a figure appeared in the corner of her eye. Her mother came and knelt by her other side. The fragrance of honeyed clover clung to her. Her eyes, a pale hazel bordering on gold, half closed as she smiled at Christine. Her skin shone with the luster of the sun.  
_

_Christine fought the incredulity that rose in her, threatening to choke her. Her mother reached over and tucked a strand of auburn hair, so like her own, behind her daughter's ear. "Hello, Christine." her voice was a soft, throaty murmur, lilting as though she was about to sing. Her eyes were gentle.  
_

_She looked between them as they smiled at her. Suddenly a flutter of movement caught her eye. She rose, inexplicably drawn to it, not wanting to go and unable to stay.. She looked back at her parents, they waved to her before turning to each other and she continued on. She drifted in the smooth motion of dreams, across the field. _

_There was something wrong, she sensed as she plunged into the brush. The grass was rising here, dry and crackling under her bare feet. It was silent, but for the swish of yellowing grass. The sun became angry here. Her nose was assaulted with the scent of something dying in the heat. _

_Behind her she heard a faint cry. She whirled, running back. Thistles snagged her skin, catching and tearing thin, vicious lines of red. Unseen stones crunched under her feet, ripping at them, thorns leaving their prickling imprint on her feet. The air was suddenly much too hot, much too still. It's stifling, as she runs. It beats down on her head; when she closes her eyes, red light pounds against them.  
_

_She could see them faintly, figures under the oak tree. Her mother was slumped over, her head lolling at an odd angle on the long, swanlike column of her neck. Her fingertips are blue, blackening. She is not breathing. _

_Her father stared at her with wide, wild eyes. He seemed to be crumpling before her eyes, wasting away. He was paling, eyes dulling. _

_"Chri-" his voice croaks and breaks. _

_"I'm coming!" she called, but her voice was high and thin. _

_No matter how fast she runs, she couldn't reach him. She saw him clearly though, as his bones began to press against the thin skin, she heard the low rasp of his breath as it hissed and gurgled in his throat. _

_"I'm coming!" she cried again. Her breath began to come harshly, her body burned under the sunlight and the effort. Sweat trickled down and stung her eyes, her hair clung stickily to her neck. _

_He reached out a wavering, skeletal hand to her. His eyes were hollow, the vivacity gone from them. The pools of them were muddied, filled with mire and nameless things. A sob caught in her throat as she stumbled, fell. Blood as red as poppies began to bead on her knees, smeared against the ivory of her legs. She picked herself on, stumbling as though she moved through water. Her heart pounded in her head, loud and wild._

_ He fell back and she saw blood pool at one corner of the mouth, crusting as his eyes clouded over. "Christi-" His last breath came in a last, rattling gasp and then he was silent. Christine struggled still to reach him. _

He's not dead, he can't be dead.

Oh, Dad, you can't be dead.

_ She collapsed beside his body, took his hand. It was cold and under the wasted wrist there was no heartbeat. It was waxy in her grip, sliding from her. She bit back a cry. _

_"Dad!"  
_

_Oh, God._ Christine's throat closed as the nightmare began to retreat. There was a burning in her eyes, an electricity that filled her body. She fought the urge to retch. She could still feel the papery thinness of his skin, the clammy iciness of death.

Her vision blurred and disappeared into a bright haze of shining mist. She closed her eyes, tears clinging desperately to the eyelashes. She scrubbed at them while her cheeks became red and raw. She sniffed, a pounding behind her eyes. Despair and fear pulsed through her with every heartbeat, in her very veins.

She had thought he was alive. She had thought that they were both alive. That all of them were together again.

She thought she had lost them again.

Somehow it had been infinitely worse, reliving their deaths, seeing them fall away from her before her eyes. A helpless witness. _Oh God, so helpless_.

"Why are you torturing me?" she whispered to the darkness. "Isn't it enough that I lost them?"

She turned her face to the faint moonlight. It was cold and remote. It did not care what she had lost or suffered. The silence pressed all around her, potent and oppressive. "Why did you take them from me? Was it something I did?" her voice cracked. "Why did you take them and leave me here all alone?"

She heard a faint creaking outside her doorway, ignored it and gave herself over to the tears. It was almost a relief, to let out all that she had hidden since the funeral. It was purging to cry here, in the night, where no one would hear her.

Where she need not hide the shame.

"I should have taken better care of him." Her voice was muffled by the pillow she pressed against her face to stifle the sound. It didn't make the words any less true. "There was so much more I could have done for him, why didn't I? Why wasn't I with him every moment, as I should have been? I could have healed him- I could have! Why didn't I? Why should he have to pay for my selfishness? I should never have gone to those rehearsals, I should have stayed with him. I should have- I should have-"

She slammed an open fist on the bed in an angry, helpless gesture. "Why wasn't I there for him? He needed me." Salt slid down her throat, bittersweet. "I need him."

A hysterical, faint laugh forced its way out of her. It was small and weak in the enormity of the night. "I need you, Dad. Oh, God, I need you. You promised me you'd watch over me- you promised to send me the Angel of Music. Or was it all a lie?"

_ Don't be so selfish, Christine. You don't deserve any of that. Not after letting him sicken. Not after letting him die. _

_You deserve what happened to him, Christine. Look at what you cost Mom- look at what you cost him! It should have been you!_

"It should have been me." She whispered fervently, rocking, arms around her knees. She buried her head against them. "It should have been me."

_Do you bring anything but pain, Christine?_

She felt sick, contaminated. It was something that burrowed under her skin until she was consumed by it, a feeling of uncleanness. A disease, a virus. As though she crawled with evils, with sins. She wanted to scrub it from her skin, to erase the words that ran through her mind. It made her feel like a leper, as though she would pass on her sins to anyone in her vicinity. A contagious, sickening thing. The thought pounded through her head, a singsong, horrifying litany. She shuddered uncontrollably.

_Unclean, unclean, unclean._

_ Unclean- Oh God! _

She stumbled to the shower, shedding the cotton as though it burned her. Her flesh felt fevered, she shook uncontrollably. The cold tile sent chills up her spine. Her hip jarred against the counter, sending a shot of pain through her body. She didn't care. The dial scraped against her palm as she jerked it up.

Christine shuddered as the hot water struck her. She scraped at the skin until it felt raw, her hair weighing heavily as it became soaked, straggling into her eyes. Her pale skin reddened under the heat and her rough efforts to clean something that went deeper than her pores._ Unclean, unclean..._

At last she gave up. Steam curled around her in the moonlight, she turned her face up to the water and let it sting her face, washing away the tears. Her eyes felt swollen, aching. She was suddenly exhausted. It took her two tries to grip the knob, turn it. Toweling herself off was an effort. Too tired to do anything else, she pulled a robe around her and fell into bed, the soft fabric abrading her abused skin. She prayed for oblivion to take her quickly.

And- a mercy beyond what she deserved- it did.

**Erik**

He paused by the door, hearing a muffled sound. It was a moment before he recognized the sound as what it was.

Crying. Not the sobs of a teenager who had broken up with her boyfriend, but the harsh, gut-wrenching sobs of a girl who had lost her world. His heart- what was left of the crippled thing- went out to her. His hand brushed the doorknob, feeling something like empathy for the first time in years.

For the first time in years, he felt the need to comfort someone.

He snatched his hand back from the door. No, if he did that, he would be vulnerable again. He couldn't let himself care. Not like this.

Not like this.

A voice murmured softly, indistinct things, beyond the door, things of blame, of guilt, of self-accusation. Erik stared. He could not heart the words, but he could hear the hopelessness of them.

What had brought such bitterness into that angelic voice?

Something is urging him to open the door, to hold the shattered young woman beyond. Something is telling him that she needs that, now of all times. Something is telling him that his voice can chase away the nightmares, drive the darkness out of those lamenting eyes.

He wanted to hold her, to cradle the fragile body to his, to dry the tears and stroke her hair as no one had done for him. To tell the girl huddled in her room that it would not always be night. That she would live to see the sun rise again in her young life.

_ No._ he thought fiercely_. No, give her her privacy. Let her cry where she thinks no one can hear. Will you take that from her? What else does she have, Erik?_

_ What else does she have?_

**Christine**

She half-woke once in the night. Something like soft footsteps echoed in her dreaming mind. There was a presence near her, she could sense it dimly in her half-conscious state.

She felt a hand against her hair. Above her was a figure. His face was in shadow, the eyes glowing like luminous embers. There was an aura, a whiteness about him. A divine effervescence that cast out soft, pale rays where it struck his skin.

"Angel?" she murmured incredulously. Was it all a dream? "Are you there, Angel?"

A low voice, warm and seraphic, brushed her hearing and her mind. It shrouded her in comfort, leaving a glowing trail in its wake. "Sleep, Christine."

She reached out. The being caught her hand, laid it gently at her side. "Sleep." She closed her eyes obediently. The beatific voice followed her into dreams. "Sleep and dream of peace."

Her eyes opened, fluttered closed.. "Angel?"

"I'm with you, Christine."

She felt a tear slide down her cheek. "Tell my father I love him." Her body relaxed as she slid back into dreams.

She dreamt of Heaven.

**Erik**

He was shaking, he realized, as he stood over her, watching her breathing slow, her muscles fall lax.

_Why am I here? _

He knew why. Illogical, foolish as it was, he had heard her cry out in her sleep. Against all good sense, all his enraged logic, he answered. He had answered her, because there was no one else.

She had called him Angel. She had reached out to him. His breath caught in his throat at the remembrance of that slender hand in his, the fearless, unquestioning trust in the wide, half-dreaming eyes.

_Why did I do that?_ He didn't understand it, wasn't entirely comfortable with it. He had seen beyond the mask she wore in daylight. It felt as though he had invaded some secret part of her.

She had let him. She had held out her hand for his, a plea for forgiveness. Who was he to grant forgiveness to this innocent young girl? Who was he, marked creature of Hell, to answer to the name of 'Angel'?

_She had no one else. _His mind whispered. _Don't you think that she deserves whatever small peace you can give her? Didn't you see her spirit bleeding behind her eyes? How can you not give comfort?_

_ Don't' you remember what it was to feel the pain that she does?  
_

_Of course I do. _his voice was harsh with conflict.

_Do you think she deserves to suffer as you did?_

He looked down at the sleeping girl. Her cheeks were raw and chapped by crying, the eyes red-rimmed. He touched her hair again, tentatively.

_ No. No, she doesn't._

_ She doesn't._

_

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**And the plot thickens...  
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	6. Anodyne

**Disclaimer: Still don't own POTO or the characters. Or the song 'My, My, My' by Rob Thomas. I only own the storyline. **

**Thank you all for the fabulous reviews. You guys are fantastic- I couldn't ask for better readers.**

**Lee**

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**Anodyne**

**Raoul**

He flipped through the photo album absently. Faces flushed and eyes sparkling. Laughter looking out at him from every page.

Her eyes were dark, narrowed as the sun hit them. Her hair is flying in the wind, she leaned against him, lips stretched in a carefree smile. She has one arm around him, in the other she holds a well-loved snowboard. Behind them, the ski lift blazes brightly in the sunlight. Snow drifted across the photo in blurred white points of light.

He closed his eyes. _Dawn._

_He remembers the first time he ever saw her. She stood at the other end of the ski lodge. He saw her surrounded by a group of friends, eyes sparkling and laughter ringing freely. His friends have to repeat themselves to get his attention. Eventually they gave up, leaving him free to look at the vibrant brunette as she threw back her head and laughed as one of the surrounding girls acted out an anecdote from earlier that day. _

_She was like a star in orbit, with the planets revolving around her. Exuding a warmth that he wanted to bask in. He wanted to share that laughter with her. Was there something different in the way she held another's eyes? Or did he imagine the eyes that saw just a little bit deeper, the voice that held just a little more passion? _

_She shone._

_ Suddenly, she looked over and caught his eye. Her lips parted in surprise as she realized that they were staring at each other. But neither of them seemed able to look away. _

_She made the first move. Excusing herself, she moved away from the circle gathered around her, taking a seat by the fireplace. She looked over her shoulder at him as she goes. Her eyes seemed to hold sunlight in their dark depths. He go up, followed, irresistibly magnetized._

Raoul felt his stomach hollow at the memories. He could almost hear the whistle of wind in their ears as they sped downhill, the blasting of the radio in his car as they watched the snow fall all around them in a silent world of white. If he closed his eyes, the air took on the scent of hot chocolate and snow._ Dawn... we were so good together. It was so good._

_"The light from the window is fading  
You turn on the night  
The sound from the avenue's calling you  
Open your eyes."_

She was compassionate. She was vibrant. She was both the wisest and most naive girl he had ever met. Strangely weak and frighteningly strong. She was everything he had ever wanted or needed in another, and more. He remembered all of the times she had leaned on him, sparking a warmth in him, at being able to soothe her fears. At being able to hold her, and, with that simple action, save her from the heart that felt too fully. Being able to guard her from all the dark things of the world.

_I loved you, Dawn._

_She smiled at him as he sat down. The firelight threw odd shadows across her fine features. It gave her an almost feline quality, her eyes gleamed with welcome. "Dawn."_

_ He smiles back. "Raoul." _

_And just like that, they began._

She was a lover. There was nothing she could not see beauty in, however deeply buried. She could never stand to see anyone hurt. She was empathetic. Strangers loved her and didn't know why.

It was because she had accepted them. They could tell her the intimate, shaming secrets that they couldn't tell anyone else, not even those that could claim to be closest to their heart. A complete stranger, she would listen. When she looked into their eyes, it was as though she had forgotten all else in the world. Raoul remembered the magic of her eyes. Of her words. She would listen, and understand better than they could themselves. And she would heal.

_"And when you find  
You're spending your time  
Wanting for words  
But never speak  
You tell yourself  
That the things you need come slow  
But inside you just don't know."_

He had loved her beyond all reason or reservation. The incredible, emotional innocent who wanted nothing more than to see a stranger smile. She gave them what they needed. She gave them a heart to cry out to, an ear to whisper into, a shoulder to cry on. She broke their silence, gave them hope again.

She had given the two of them such hope.

_He leaned back into the seat, watching the snowflakes bloom, a swirling, lacy field of the tiniest flowers, on the windshield. Her head was warm on his shoulder, her hand entwined with his as they watched the world pass by. The air in the car was warm, like sunlight on the skin before it began to burn. She smelled faintly of coconut and hot chocolate. _

_"Raoul?"  
_

_He looked at her. "Hmm?" _

_She glanced up at him. She was so peaceful leaning against him. The heat from the vent ruffled her hair, he brushed it out of her eyes gently. She closed her eyes against the sensation, a little smile on her face. "If you could have one thing in the world, what would you want?" _

_He answered without thinking. "Happiness."_

_ She gave him a thoughtful look, eyes pensive in a moon-pale face. Her hand caressed his absently. "What is happiness, really, Raoul?"_

He ran his fingers over the album. Her smile radiated from every page; the two of them smiling with complete ignorance at the camera. Never knowing what lay beyond the present of that moment. Embracing with blithe confidence, assured that nothing could harm them.

It had been so hard to move on. So difficult to turn his face to the future when he kept glancing behind him to look once more at the past.

_"My, my, my  
Let your bright light shine  
Let your words live on  
Far beyond this life  
Beyond this life."_

"Dawn..." his voice echoed in the silent apartment. _We had so much still to do. There was so much I still needed to say to her. How many times did I tell her I loved her? Was it enough? _

_Could it ever be enough?_

_He tightened the arm around her briefly, placing a gossamer kiss on her lips. "Happiness is... like being in love. Every moment is precious, life is never more beautiful. Happiness is having someone there beside you when you need them most. Happiness is being able to protect the people you care for."  
_

_Her eyes were serious on his. "Do I make you happy, Raoul?"_

_Did you make me happy, Dawn?_ He wanted to laugh, to cry at the absurdity of it_. Did the sun rise in the east? Was the sky blue that day? _Yes, she had made him happy. She had shown him a facet of life, a slant in the mirror of the world, that he had never seen.

She had left that sight with him.

_Dawn... wherever you are... I know that you're still smiling._

_ Keep smiling, Dawn._

_"Hold on to anything  
Everything's over and done  
Has the fear taken over you  
Tell me  
Is that what you want  
To make up your life."_

He remembered hearing the news, later. He did not remember the funeral. It was a whirl of black and tears and roses. Of faces and voices that he heard and saw as through distorted glass, stretched and muted.

He remembered seeing the odd angle of her head that the undertaker had not been quite able to set straight. How her already pale skin had whitened to the color snow. They had told him it was an accident, that her board caught. They told him that she had snapped her neck as she tumbled down the mountain. That they had found her spread-eagled at the bottom, lifeless hands outstretched, face blank with shock. They told him it had been quick.

They had not told him how painful it would be. In the months afterward, he moved automatically through life, hiding the grief. It worried his parents, when they came to see him and found him looking into nothingness. He had pulled himself together for their sakes. And for hers. He had an idea that she would have been less than happy with him if she knew what he had let happen to himself. That he had wallowed in self-pity, not noticing the toll his emotions were taking on others. He could imagine the gentle rebuke, the balming voice.

For her, he started to live, to breathe, to laugh again.

_"Time after time  
You're falling behind  
Hold on to me  
Never leave  
Forever be what you mean to me right now."_

It was still a shock to him, seeing his boss's goddaughter. For a moment, it had been as though he was looking at Dawn again. It was the same naiveté, the same air of understanding and welcome. The same light was in her eyes.

Christine.

And yet she had seemed so young, so innocent. Almost fragile. It drew him to her, that aura of both giving and need. It called to him, a need to shelter her, to know her. The girl with the wondering, wise eyes and winsome smile. Her unassuming manner, so like hers.

He hadn't felt this- genuine interest- in another girl since her. It had been so awkward- he had been almost afraid to frighten her off. Something in him had shrunk from the thought that she would decline and slip from him. Something told him that he couldn't let that happen, that she may need him as Dawn once did. He couldn't let her slip away.

She had seemed to forgive him for his trickery though, and he breathed a sigh of relief. In that night, he had felt something emergent, gathering its courage for the first breath of life. A seedling split and spreading cautious tendrils.

He glanced down at the album. _I actually want to be with her, Dawn. I want to see her smile, hear her laugh. I want to hold her. I haven't felt this in years. Not since you.  
_

_Dawn... maybe it's time for me to let myself love again._

**Nadir**

"Hello, Christine."

"Uncle Nadir." her voice was tired. Unusually tired. He frowned, a dimness to faint to be thought in the back of his mind. "Have you any idea what time it is?" She sounded wearily amused.

Nadir looked down at his watch. And remembered just how many hours the time change was. Chagrined, he forced an embarrassed laugh. "I'm terribly sorry dear. I just wanted to check up on you. How are you doing?"

"As well as can be expected." Her answer was neither too hasty nor too hesitant. But there was something underlying her voice that causes his insides to curl uncomfortably.

"You're sure, Christine?" A nervous tension ran through his veins. He resisted the urge to call off the rest of his meetings and fly back to see her. Was this what parents dealt with all the time? He didn't envy them.

She laughed sleepily. It sounded genuine. "You worry about me too much."

"Of course I do. What kind of godfather would I be if I didn't?" He paused. "I think I'll be able to drop by in a week or so, Christine. How are you and Erik getting along?"

Her voice was distant, as though her mind wasn't entirely on the conversation. "Just fine. He's polite. His music is... beautiful, though. How did you happen to meet him? You never told me."

Nadir smiled wryly. "It's a funny little story. I'll tell it to you when I get back. Say hello to Erik for me in the meantime."

She yawned. "Uh-huh. 'Scuze me."

He chuckled. "I'll let you get back to sleep then, Christine."

"Bye, Uncle Nadir."

"Sleep well, Christine."

**Christine**

She replaced the phone in its cradle. Erik materialized in the doorway. "Who was that?" He was still wearing the mask, she noted. A robe wrapped around him, she wondered if the phone had woken him or if he had already been awake. Did he even take the mask off to sleep? Was he really that afraid or ashamed of what lay underneath?

And he didn't look tired at all. She felt unreasonably irritated by that little fact. "That was Nadir. He thinks he'll be able to come back in a week or so."

His eyes probed her closely. "Was there anything else?"

She shrugged. "He said hello." She yawned again, covering it with a hand that didn't feel quite connected with the rest of her. She blinked hazily, massaged her closed eyes. "Sorry. I'm not at my best at four in the morning."

The hint of a smile touched his face, his eyes warmed marginally. "Understandable."

She managed a smile as she brushed past him. She stumbled slightly, put a hand against the wall to steady herself.

A hand caught her arm. "I'm fine, really." she protested, looking up at the owner of the hand. "I'm just tired."

Erik closed his eyes as though praying for patience. And told her firmly, "I'd rather you didn't pass out on the floor, Christine. Come on."

She mumbled a halfhearted dissent, but allowed him to steer her in the direction of her room. He kept a careful distance between them, even as she swayed precariously.

Christine perceived vaguely that they had reached her room. She reached out for the handle, missed. He took her hand and placed it on the handle. She caught a glimpse of his face, almost amused. "Are you going to be able to make it?"

She gave him a sleepy glare. "Yes."

A corner of his mouth twitched, he stepped back. "I'll take your word for it. Sleep well, Christine."

"G'night." She turned to look at him, but he was gone. She shook her head, went into her room and collapsed on the bed.

A half-familiar voice entwined through her dreams.


	7. Adlevo

**Disclaimer: I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. Thanks for all of your reviews- have you any idea how you inspire me?**

**cookies n' hugs **

**Lee **

**Note- the word 'adlevo' is latin and translates to 'I lift up' or 'I comfort'.**

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**Adlevo **

**Nadir**

_Finally._ Finally, he stood on the threshold of his own home, after eight hours of surly flight attendents, screaming children and stale airport food.

_ I will be content if I never see another peanut in my life ever again._ He sighed, rubbed at the headache starting behind his eyes. Jetlag was already beginning to catch up to him. He rung the bell.

Christine opened it, face mildly expectant._ Expecting who?_ he wondered briefly. It turned into a dazzling smile that transformed her features. She threw her arms around him, laughing. "Uncle Nadir!"

He set his suitcase on the floor and hugged her back. "Evening, Christine. Have I missed any great excitement?"

She pulled away to look at him and he sensed a weariness behind the smile. "Not particularly. How was your flight?" She picked up one of his suitcases; he took the other and stepped inside and closed the door after him. _Home. Thank heavens, no more airports. _

He winced. "So help me, I will buy my own jet next time I want to travel." She laughed at his expression and he looked at her indignantly. "It isn't funny at all!"

Her expression steadied, though the ghost of a teasing smile hovered around her lips. "Of course not, Uncle Nadir. Are you hungry?"

He raised a wry eyebrow at her. "When was the last time you ate airline food?"

She cocked an eyebrow right back at him. "I always brought my own."

Nadir tugged one of her curls teasingly at her impudence. "Would that I had had such foresight."

She laughed again. "A good, home-cooked meal will do wonders for you."

"You made something, then?"

"Thankfully, yes." Erik leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, amused. "She wouldn't subject you to your own cooking after an eight hour flight. She was quite vehement about it."

"Charming as ever, Erik." Nadir smiled and shook his head. "How have you been, my friend?"

"I'll go check the fish, shall I?" Christine inserted tactfully, wandering left through the door in the antechamber that led to the kitchen. Erik glanced after her, then back at Nadir. "The same as I've always been, Nadir."

Nadir hesitated. "And Christine?"

"She's a sweet girl."

"But?" Nadir prompted. His voice lowered, intensified. "Erik, something isn't right. She isn't mourning him; for heaven's sake, she should have cornered the market on tissues by now! I haven't heard a word about how she feels about Charles. Not one word! She worries me, Erik."

Erik seemed slightly startled at this rare display of discord, a flash of concern went across his face. He said placatingly, "Perhaps she has talked about it with Mr. DeChagney."

Nadir raised his eyebrows. "What?" _Talked about Charles with_ Raoul?

Erik sighed as his attempt to calm Nadir backfired. "She likes him well enough, and to say that he is interested in her would be a gross understatement. They have been meeting for around a week now. Perhaps she confides in him."

Nadir stared at Erik. "Do you think he could be taking advantage of her emotions?" That was the last thing she needed, and Nadir was _not_ going to tolerate it if that was the case.

Nadir frowned. No, if that was the case, Mr. DeChagney would soon find himself very much unemployed. After receiving an extensive lecture on morality.

"Do you trust him?"

He sighed. "Yes. Raoul is a very nice boy. But is he what's best for Christine, I don't know." He ran a hand through his short hair, greying at the roots. "I'll talk to her about it. Erik-" he paused.

"Yes?"

"Does she still sing?"

Erik smiled faintly. Nadir blinked as the lines of his face softened, the eyes warmed. "Like an angel." he answered softly.

Nadir brushed aside his surprise. "Do you think you could teach her?" He continued calmly in the face of Erik's sudden expressionlessness. "I think it would be healthy for her. A healing process. It was one of the things she shared with Charles, a love for music. Perhaps it could help her with his..." he trailed off. A wave of nostalgia overtook him. The faint strain of a violin, a young girl's high, clear voice, filled his mind.

Erik nodded thoughtfully, eyes distant. "I understand." The hint of a smile touched his still lips, his eyes spoke reassurance. "I think that would be very good for her. She has an incredible gift. It seems only right that she should use it, even more so if it could help her." he said, voice distant. Nadir shook his head. _Once a musician, always a musician._

He smiled faintly, relieved. "Try not to have any artistic tantrums with her, Erik. Remember, she just lost..."

Erik's voice was soft. "I know, Nadir." There was an odd haziness in his eyes, a memory stirring in their depths.

Silence stretched between them, broken by Christine's cheerful call of "Dinner's ready!"

Nadir picked up his suitcases. "I'll be with you presently. Talk to her about singing lessons sometime soon, would you?"

Erik's eyes gleamed with laughter at the none-too-subtle hint. "I'll try to find the time, Nadir. Take your time unpacking."

"I shall." Nadir replied dryly.

**Erik**

Tutoring Christine.

The subject had crossed his mind once or twice, after he had heard that beatific, angelic voice. But he had never been quite sure how to approach her about it. He had little in the way of social skills and even less knowledge in the treacherous domain of teenage etiquette.

A lyrical fire sparked in him at the idea. Music was radiating through him, tailored to her voice, her range, the unearthliness of it. The musician in him was- delighted. At being able to coach that lovely voice into something even greater. It was an incredible instrument- he could make it more. The idea of her angelic voice soaring in accompaniment to his sent a heady rush through him. He could almost hear it now, even in the silence. A perfect harmony, a perfect meshing of the two.

Two voices, in one combined.

He blinked. Where had that come from? _He _sang alone

He always sang alone.

Nevertheless, the prospect of teaching her, sculpting and refining the divine voice was one that intrigued him.

Intrigued him? It fascinated him. For the first time in years, Erik felt music stirring that was not his own. The sensation was... intoxicating. Like a breath of fresh air moving through a long-abandoned house. A stirring in the stillness.

He paused at the door. Stared for a moment at the petite girl moving about in the kitchen, seemingly unaware of him. She was humming to herself, slender body moving in unison to the soothing sound. _If she agrees to it. _A flicker of nervous tension went through him. _What if she doesn't? What then? _His mind began to race. _What if, what if, what if? _

_Calm down, Erik. _He steadied himself. His hands were shaking slightly, he took a moment to still them.

_She'll agree, Erik._

_ She has to._

**Christine**

She turned as she heard footsteps. Only Erik stood there. Christine frowned. "Is he that tired?"

Erik shook his head. "No, he insisted on unpacking."

Christine sighed. "Of course he did."

Erik's eyes lightened at her resigned expression. "Let me help you with that." He took the dish from her unresisting hands. "Christine, do you enjoy singing?" he asked, voice quiet. His eyes were bright on hers.

She blinked at him, resisted the incredulous laugh that bubbled up inside her. _Do I enjoy singing? _What kind of question was that? "Of course I do. Why do you ask?" Christine looked up at him inquisitively. _And why are you asking me? _

He smiled faintly, pulled out her chair for her. "Because, if you are amenable, I'd like to teach you. You have a beautiful voice, more than beautiful. I confess, I think any musician would kill to tutor you."'

She looked at him closely, wondering what had prompted such an offer from the reticent Erik, than returned the smile. "Well, let's not start a bloodbath on my account. Yes, I'd like that very much."

And- to her slight surprise, she did. The idea of singing to the potent music she'd heard night after night, having the tutelage of the astounding musician whose music could twist her emotions every way, was both exhilarating and slightly frightening. As to the idea of singing _with_ that seraphic voice... she suppressed a shiver at the thought. It caused a rush of adrenaline, a pure, ecstatic energy to flush through her body. She wondered what lay in the music room of the secretive man across from her. Her curiosity was piqued, an anticipation hummed through her, nearly tangible.

She saw the first full smile she had ever received from him. It transformed the visible half of his face, the eyes were the color of summer skies under its influence. No less potent, but somehow gentler. Warmer. She caught her breath. The air seemed suddenly more still, harder to breathe. A thrill traced its way up her spine. "Thank you, Christine." His voice had warmed as well, rich with subtleties. A sense that he was as eager for it as she. Christine felt something emergent, a drifting nameless thing in the air.

At that moment Nadir stepped into the kitchen. He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of food. "I think I just might take you with me when I go back to Europe, Christine."

She smiled at him wryly. "You'd have to put me under lock and key. I wouldn't miss a music lesson."

Nadir looked politely baffled. "Music lesson?"

She allowed a smile to spread across her face. To surprise, it was genuine. Almost unconscious. The first one since... she pushed that thought aside. "Courtesy of Erik Destler."

Erik mock-toasted her with his glass.

Nadir looked delighted. "That's marvelous, Christine. I think Erik has a great deal he could teach you."

Christine smiled at Erik. friendly challenge in her eyes. "Maybe he could learn a few things as well."

He raised an eyebrow at her, the trace of a smile on his face. "I look forward to it." he said dryly.

**Erik**

Later that night, he exchanged an amused look with Nadir in the man's office. "Your acting abilities have improved."

Nadir smiled, only half-joking. "It comes of dealing with lawyers." he replied, flipping through a set of documents. _Spreadsheets._ Erik shuddered at the thought.

Erik shook his head, cynicism in the set of his lips. "Why am I not surprised?"

He covered a yawn. "When are you ever surprised, Erik? Speaking of lawyers, I can only stay for a day or two at the most, then I must go back. The aforementioned lawyers are doing their best to make one of our business transactions troublesome and I am the only one who has not yet alienated them." He smiled reminiscently. "Richard ended up shouting at them at the top of his lungs." He sighed wistfully, than the peaceful expression was gone. "I miss having him in those meetings."

Erik allowed a half-smile to cross his face. What was visible of it, anyway. "You are a wicked man, Nadir."

Nadir snorted. "Why don't you come with me to the next meeting?"

"Thank you, Nadir, but I must decline. I never had a head for politics."

"No." Nadir sighed. "You'd probably have strangled half of them within the hour." He seemed to brighten at the idea, he looked at Erik mock-hopefully. "You're sure you wouldn't like to come?"

"I have a student, Nadir. That, I can handle. A teenager, I can handle. I'll leave the lawyers to you."

"Said teenager wants to know when her beloved godfather is going to go to bed." Christine inserted mildly from the doorway. "Honestly, Uncle Nadir, you should get some sleep. You look dead on your feet." She frowned at him.

Nadir's face was resigned. "Thank you, darling goddaughter. As always, you are the soul of courtesy." He got to his feet.

"You know I only do it because I love you." Christine smiled and hugged Nadir on his way out of the door. She turned her smile to Erik. "I don't know if you ever sleep."

The warmth of that smile was a pleasant shock. It washed over him like stepping out into a summer sun. Erik quickly doused the sensation. "Never." he said seriously.

His reply earned him a quirk of her lips, a gleam of humor in her eyes. "Insomnia seems to agree with you, then. Lucky you."

He froze as she came forward, gave him a one-armed embrace. He felt his body tense against her warmer one. Her curls brushed his collar. _What in hell?_ This brought back a number of memories, ones he would have much preferred forgotten. He was suspicious of it- and yet it was oddly comforting. He resisted the urge to push her away. Or hold her closer. _Christine? Why is she...?_

He felt a migraine coming on. Christine pulled back and smiled brightly at him. "Good night, Erik." Her voice had not changed, her eyes were no less bright or cheerful.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to have noticed his reaction, or lack thereof. "Good night, Christine." He wondered if his voice was really as steady as it sounded. _Why the hell did she just do that?_ Erik watched her warily. _What is she up to? _

She drifted out of the room, cast a smile over her shoulder at him. "Sleep well." Her footsteps were a muted echo on the carpet.

He stood there, motionless for what seemed hours. Finally, he made his way through the living room, down the hallway, pausing as he passed her door. All he heard was quiet. The sound of faint breathing. Eased, he continued on to the music room.

Only then, in his sanctuary, hands resting lightly on the piano keys, did he whisper. "Sleep well, Christine."

**Christine**

She heard the faint sounds of the piano twining through the house as she propped her head up on her hands to listen, eyes half-closed in rhapsody. The moonlight, the feel of cotton against her skin, the faint sounds of traffic, dispersed until she was aware only of the music. A soothing melody wrapping her in its warmth. Leaving a trail of stars and fireflies as it floated through her. A brightness that lulled her to sleep, as though she basked in sunlight. Warm as it caressed her skin. Glowing. Entrancing. A soft luminescent blue, easing her, flowing through her body, her mind, her spirit. Cleansing, leaving serenity in its wake. She sighed in pure content.

Christine lay back down, settling deeper into the sheets. She felt her body relax, her mind still and calm as though hypnotized. She closed her eyes and smiled.

_Good night, Erik._

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**Thank you all once again for all of your thoughtful, marvelous and very much appreciated reviews. **

** cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	8. Attainment

**Disclaimer: I only own the storyline and unaffiliated characters. Someday, should I win the lottery, maybe that could change.  
Thanks for all of your lovely, considerate and much-apprecieated reviews.**

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**Attainment**

**Nadir**

He woke to the most beautiful sounds. Moving over him like waves on a beach, in steady, soothing rhythm.

A piano. An unwavering melody, serene, like the ocean at dawn.

It was calm. The calmest song he had heard from Erik in years. An easy melody that twined around him gently. The persuasive potency, the raw and natural beauty was there, but it was not the fierce, fiery stuff that Nadir was accustomed to hearing.

The darkness of it had faded.

It followed him into dreams.

**Christine**

She turned, smiled as her godfather walked into the kitchen. He looked somehow younger, relaxed. The warm sparkle she was accustomed to seeing was back in his dark eyes. His skin had a healthy flush, no longer the greyish tinge of yesterday.

"You look rested." She smiled, hugged him. "Coffee?"

"That would be wonderful." He hugged her back. "Why don't you sit down? I'll make something." A wicked glint danced in his eyes as she struggled to find a polite way to dissuade him.

He spared her any further trouble. "Only joking, Christine. I would be delighted to eat whatever you have on hand."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You only want me to make breakfast." she accused, voice laced with laughter. Christine smiled wryly at his amused expression.

Nadir laughed. "Caught! Would you, Christine?"

"Of course. I like to feel I'm earning my keep." She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she moved toward the pantry. "What would you like?"

"So." she said over pancakes. Nadir looked up at her, brows raised in inquiry. "You did say you would tell me how you and Erik met."

"I did." Nadir answered. She looked at him expectantly. His lips quirked, then quieted as she pretended to drum her fingers impatiently.

"It was in college. Sometime in May, if I recall correctly. I had just left a seminar, was headed to another class. I ran into a group of boys that... were not known for their friendliness. Even to those they considered their 'equals."

"What do you mean?" she asked, bemused.

He gestured to the dark skin of his face. "Skin color drew unwanted attention back in those days a little more than it does now, Christine. Suffice to say, that particular group of boys did not like me. Or at least they did not like what I was." He smiled humorlessly. "They were quite keen on informing me of that." Christine flinched. His eyes had not changed, they still bore the same warm fondness for her, yet something dark had entered the voice. A grim undertone. "They liked to hurt people like me. That day was no exception."

"What happened?" she asked. This was a story she had never heard, growing up. A side to her godfather she had never expected.

_ What secrets do people keep from the ones they love?_

He shrugged calmly, unruffled. "I took their blows and their words. Violence has no place in this life, Christine, even in self-defense, it is wrong to strike another." he ended simply.

"Fortunately," came an amused drawl from the doorway, "some others disagree with that philosophy." Erik leaned against the door frame. He looked exactly the same as ever, but Christine sensed a new calm about him. One more of peace than conscious control.

Nadir smiled. "Indeed." Then he looked back to her and continued. "Erik saw and- interfered. They never quite dared to mock him outright- few people did- but it wasn't from a lack of the desire to do so. Nevertheless, it was Erik who stopped them that day. And that, Christine, is how we met, and, befriended." he concluded, voice a little wistful. His eyes were distant, had a faraway look to them.

Erik helped himself to coffee. Leaning against the counter, he shrugged. "You make it sound a great deal more noble than it was, Nadir. Someone else would have come to your aid."

Nadir raised his eyebrows, suddenly more businesslike. There was a frown in his voice. "I saw several of those _someones _walk right by what was happening that day. Don't downplay what you did, Erik. Compassion is nothing to be ashamed of."

A noncommittal "Hmm." was all the answer he received. Nadir exhaled, changed the topic so suddenly it made her blink.

"I hear you've become acquainted with Raoul DeChagney, Christine."

"Yes, I..." It was about this time she noticed Erik leaving the room. She looked back at Nadir. "I'm sorry, Uncle Nadir, what were you saying?"

"Raoul DeChagney." he repeated, a patient smile tugging at his mouth.

Christine hesitated. "He's... very sweet. I like him very much." _But beyond that... I don't know._

_ I just don't know._

**Nadir**

He watched as she searched for further words. _'I like him very much'... but you don't love him, do you, Christine? _He sighed mentally, a little melancholy at the lost expression in her eyes_. I thought as much._

Instead he smiled. "Raoul is a nice young man, Christine. But are you sure that you want to get involved with him after-"

She cut him off, almost as though afraid of hearing the words _'your father.'_ "I'm not involved, Uncle Nadir. It's just a friendship."

He nodded. "Be sure Mr. DeChagney knows that, Christine." _Be very sure. Otherwise, if I know him, he'll begin to read a good deal into this that is not there. _Worry bit into him as he looked at the suddenly reticent girl across from him.

_I don't want either of you to end up hurt that way._

An odd half-smile crossed her face. It wasn't in any way cheerful. Her eyes were downcast. "Don't worry, Uncle Nadir. I'm not planning on throwing myself into a relationship any time soon."

He hesitated for a moment. "Christine, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Her face went curiously blank as he continued. "Christine, about Charles..."

She interrupted him. "Are you done with that, Uncle Nadir?" she gestured at his plate. He sighed, attempted to continue.

"Yes, Christine, but-" She took the plate.

"Then I'll just put this in the dishwasher and go take a shower. Raoul and I are meeting for lunch later." She smiled mechanically at him as she disappeared out of the door. There was no life to it. Nadir shivered. What was she doing to herself?

He rested his head on his arms. _Damn it._ Nadir was not prone to cursing, but Christine's frozen avoidance of any subject relating to her father was beginning to tell on his nerves. He did not want to admit the fear it instilled in him to see her face suddenly close off, her eyes become dead and glazed whenever he brought up Charles.

_Christine, why won't you talk to me? Why are you shutting me out?_

"No luck, Nadir?" asked a voice from the door. Nadir lifted his head, shook it. He felt limp, suddenly older. Tired, endlessly weary. _Christine... what's happening to you_? "I passed Christine a moment ago. She looked-"

Nadir let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm trying, Erik, but it's like talking to a brick wall. She's shutting herself off from it- it's not healthy! I wish I knew what she was thinking- what she was feeling. I don't like being unable to help her like this, Erik." He rubbed at his temples. feeling helpless. "I'm her guardian, her _godfather_, for heaven's sake. I should be able to help her. She should be able to talk to me. And if she feels like she can't talk about it with me, than she is most definitely not sharing anything with Raoul-"

"What makes you say that?" Erik inquired, brows raised.

He smiled, almost cynically. "I don't think Christine's in love with him any more than that toaster is. And she certainly isn't going to share anything like_ this_ on the strength of an infant friendship that's unlikely to become anything more." Nadir stared off into spaced, unsettled. His thoughts chased each other in weary circles. Erik looked mildly concerned, frowning slightly, as unguarded as he ever got. "Which means that she's keeping this all bottled inside. Erik- I don't know what to do!"

Erik sighed. "I don't know what I can do to help you, Nadir- but I'll try."

Touched, Nadir felt his muscles slacken a bit. Thank the heavens for him. He met the intent blue eyes. To his surprise- and gratitude, there was actual concern there- actual compassion. "Thank you, Erik."

His voice said more than could be put into words.

**Christine**

She sighed as the hot water stung her face. At her core was a brewing storm, an uncalm that worried at her. A fluttering, creeping sensation that refused to go away. She didn't want to think about him. Not now.

_Don't think about the way things might have been, Christine. Don't, for the love of God, think of that._ A salty sweetness slid over her face. She blinked rapidly at her suddenly blurred vision. Her body felt suddenly heavier, darker. Something whispered in her, a faint cry that she refused to listen to. A dangerous emotion reaching out to her that she quickly buried, afraid to touch it. It frightened her. It was dark and howling and would pull her downward and inward if she did not force it back.

_Raoul._ She thought firmly. _You're going to go to lunch with Raoul._ Everything was normal. Everything was under control. She had to believe that.

She had to.

**Raoul**

He smiled as the door opened. "Hey, Nadir. How are you?"

The man smiled. "Very well, thank you. I hear that you have an appointment with my goddaughter?" He didn't seem upset about it.

Raoul felt his face soften. "Yeah, Christine and I are going to check out this new place downtown."

Nadir nodded amiably. "I'm glad she's found a friend." _Friend? _thought Raoul, before Nadir continued. "Has Christine told you why she is here?"

He shook his head, vaguely curious. "Is there something I should know?"

The man's voice softened. "Christine has recently lost someone very dear to her. Her father passed away some weeks ago." he elaborated quietly.

A ripple of shock went through him. It was followed by concern. "No, she hadn't mentioned anything about it." Worry invaded him. _Christine, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help you?_

Nadir seemed to sense his unrest. "I trust you Raoul. But be careful in what you say to her. Christine's going through a tough time and she could use a _friend, _Raoul."

Raoul hardly noticed the curious inflection on the word. Poor Christine! Was that why she was so reserved, almost distant at times? Why she didn't like to talk about herself- her family?

_Christine, why didn't you say something? _

_Why didn't you let me help you? I'll always be here to help you, Christine. You don't even have to say a word. I'll be here for you, if you need me to. _

He and Nadir turned at the sound of footsteps. It was Christine. Raoul studied her a little more closely. Her smile didn't seem forced, she seemed glad to see him. His heart lightened. Maybe he could help her_. I want you to be happy, Christine._

Raoul smiled. "Ready to go, Christine?"

She returned the gesture. "Of course. See you later." She kissed her godfather on the cheek. Raoul laid a hand on her arm as she preceded him out the door. An urge to shelter the fragile, dark-eyed girl moved through him at that touch. To help her heal and shield her from any further cruelties the world might have to offer her. He gave her a look of reassurance as she glanced back at him, slid an arm around her shoulders protectively._ Let me help you, Christine._ It occurred to him, as she leaned against him, that this girl might need him as something more than a friend. That he wanted this beautiful, lost-seeming girl as something more than a friend.

Something much more. He played absently with a curl as they made their way down the stairs to his car. A humid rush of air greeted them outside, a flood of sunlight. She was warm against him. _Christine._ He looked down at her distant profile, her eyes seeming far away. He could see shadows in their darkness. Endless, weary shadows.

_ Christine. I'm here for you now._ He squeezed her shoulders gently, she didn't seem to notice. _I'll always be here when you need me._

**Christine**

It was hard to concentrate on the present when the past ran so strongly through her. She could sense Raoul's concerned eyes on her. _Am I really being that transparent?_

She put a bit more effort into seeming lively. She didn't want to worry him- really, she didn't. God knew, she only wanted to immerse herself in the brightness of the day. To pretend, for a few short hours, that her life was normal and whole. But the hours passed so swiftly, blurring together so that it was hard to hold onto the details. An almost prosaic melding of time, where the senses were blunted, the spirit and the mind settled into complacency.

There was one thing she remembered, however- something a bit odd in the way he was acting toward her. Christine couldn't quite put her finger on it. There was a new appeal behind the cheeky, roguish charm. Something different in the way he let his hand linger on her shoulder or her waist. In the way he put just a little more effort into trying to coax a laugh from her. The way his hazel eyes seemed to watch her just a little more closely.

_ Stop it, Christine._ she told herself. _You're being paranoid. Just relax, let it all go._

It wasn't as though he thought she loved him, was it? Sure, she liked him, he was a very likable person.

But love? He was more like a friend, a brother to her. Her feelings for him did not stir beyond the platonic.

She sighed. _No, Christine. Stop being egocentric. Stop being paranoid. He's just worried about you. Just stop being so quiet and he'll lighten up. He's only concerned about you, Christine. Don't make this into something it's not._

It was with those thoughts in mind that she settled to the task of easing herself, calming and smiling so as not to worry him.

It seemed to work, too. Once she had relaxed about him, he seemed a great deal more cheerful, manner freer, less concerned.

She did not much remember the specifics of that outing. Only the end.

"Later, Chris." Raoul stood in the hallway with her. She smiled. "See you around."

He hesitated, than put his arms around her. He held her for an instant longer than she was comfortable, she began to push him away, only to discover that he had already pulled back and was smiling at her warmly. "Bye, Chris." His voice was warm.

She smiled in return, not sure how natural it was. But it seemed to satisfy him, as she walked inside the apartment.

**Raoul**

He smiled as he watched her go. It had been so good to watch her relax under his touch, to see the worry in her eyes fall away with his words.

He smiled fondly at the memories. His arm around her shoulders. Her eyes, enlivened with the conversation. Her smile, gradually growing and brightening, giving him the sensation of basking in sunlight. He recalled how he had been able to help her. It was so soothing to be able to reassure her. Soothing and elating, the sense that he could shield her and protect her, the wistful, gentle girl. That he could make her smile. Raoul recalled the feel of her body against his in that embrace. Frail, so delicate. The look in her eyes that stirred the urgency to guard her. He would guard her. He would heal her. He would help her as best he could.

_I'm here for you, Christine._


	9. Attuned

**Disclaimer: I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. Thank you all for the thoughtful, thorough, and very helpful reviews.**

**A Note- This is not the point at which Christine falls in love with Erik, or he with her. Only a changing of perspectives. **

**Lee **

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**Attuned**

**Christine**

The air in the house was still, like the pause of a great breathing. Christine felt it wrap around her, a fullness and a depth to it. It was quiet. _Where are they? _Christine kicked off her shoes. frowning. She went into the living room mildly concerned.

She heard the sounds of a muffled conference, shuffling of papers, coming from Nadir's office beyond the living room. Well. A trickle of relief ran through her. That explained where Nadir was, but where was-

She paused. There, illuminated by the dying sunlight. Christine halted, leaning against the doorway to study him.

He looked so peaceful, head fallen against the back of the chair. He was sleeping, his chest rising and falling in slow, unceasing rhythm. His head had dropped to his shoulder, the left side of his face, the unmasked side, exposed. Christine found herself drawn. She had never quite noticed the dark allure of his features, strong, not overly classical, but there was a shadowed something in them, almost magnetizing. All of the coolness, the distance, seemed to have lifted from his face in sleep. The sculpted mouth was not set in its usual wry smile or enigmatic collectedness. The arched brow was not raised in inquiry, he did not reach to brush back the dark hair that swept over it. The guarded tenseness of his face relaxed.

His eyes were closed, the long, dark length of the lashes brushing the skin. He seemed somehow younger, less worldly. Less- intimidating.

His eyes opened, the merest glint of blue. Christine snatched her hand back from the door frame, drew away from the room. Her heart was unsteady against her chest, blood racing through her. Her breath shook, a dull roar in her ears.

Her calm was shaken. She needed something to do. More out of habit- or desperation- than anything else, Christine began to make dinner, moving automatically, thoughtlessly. The sounds give her something to cling to, some semblance of normalcy. If she held to them, the tangible, she would not have to worry about the intangible.

"You're back."

She turned sharply, startled. She managed to save the dish before it slid from her hands, set it on the counter. "How was your day?" his voice was soft, caressing like wind through her hair. The aura of serenity was still about him, a glow beneath his skin, behind his eyes that had not yet faded. His body was relaxed, voice untroubled.

She shrugged, folded her arms across her chest to hide her shaking hands. "It went... well. And you?"

"Much the same." he replied quietly. The blue eyes were like a southern sea, light, serene. A calm, beating life to them. Christine paused, then tore her eyes from his. She wondered if he knew she had seen him sleeping.

She decided not to ask. "This will all be ready to go in five minutes." She didn't look at him. He hesitated a moment and she sensed his eyes upon her. His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a tentative undertone to it, almost like the hesitant extension of a hand. Christine halted as she heard it, uncertain. Worry, questions, circled through her mind like a whirlwind. And at the center of it all, the axis around which it all revolved, one word.

_Why?_

Why did he hide? Why did he put on such a masquerade upon waking? Why did he hide behind such a facade?

He broke the silence, broke the chaotic pattern her thoughts were straying to. "I'll inform Nadir."

Christine saw him pause, out of the corner of her eye, at the doorway. Than, fleeting as shadow or thought, he was gone.

She could not get it out of her head later that night, the tranquility, the way he seemed more alive, more human, in sleep. Somehow more tangible, less enigmatic. Simpler, more innocent. More alive, if that made any sense. She could not rid herself of that image, the slant of light falling the left side of his face, the dying blaze lending it a golden hue. An odd, ageless luminescence. The sudden, startling shock of blue under the dark lashes. Like the sky in between the wings of a flock of ravens.

He had looked young.

**Erik**

It had been the strangest sensation, as he drifted between dreams and wakefulness. As though he were being watched.

But it had not been threatening. More as though there had been curious or thoughtful eyes upon him. It had stirred him to awareness, beyond the dark restful peace.

He had opened his eyes and seen- nothing. Nothing but the dying, burnished gold of a sunset. Nothing living had looked back at him. He had almost put it down to an overactive imagination.

But he knew. Something- someone, had been watching him.

Surprisingly, it didn't make him feel cornered, as the sensation normally would have. No. It had been almost- benevolent. A strange, fearless gaze. If Erik had ever had a guardian angel as a child, he probably would have equated it to that. A strange blend of acceptance and watchfulness. As though the presence found him blameless, innocent.

Human.

**Christine**

She couldn't sleep. It wasn't any fault of her body, which was more than willing to fall into dreams.

It was her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she began to remember. She began to hear again, the voices at the funeral, the requiem winding through the room. The greyness of the room, small, oppressive, murmuring voices all around her. Black-clad people, their faces blending before her into anonymity. The fragrance of roses, passing into the final stage of their life. She felt herself approach the gleaming coffin again-

Finally, she threw herself out of bed, shivering. She could almost feel him beside her, ready to comfort. Almost hear his voice in her ear, hushing her. _It's all right, Christine, I'm here. Don't worry Christine, I'm here_. She could almost believe that he was, too. It was almost easy to believe that his hand rested on her shoulder.

But he wasn't there, as Christine told herself repeatedly, shakily._ I'm going mad._ she thought. The ache inside of her grew. She wanted someone there, him there, to tell her that her world would still. That the downward spiral of her fast, frightening free-fall would cease.

She wanted to be close to him again.

That longing found her in the living room once more. She searched for something, one specific film.

Their film. The one that she had watched with him endless hours in her childhood. Had laughed and cried with him as they watched. Had sung with.

As the screen lightened to color, she could almost convince herself that he was there with her, watching. She could almost believe that he sat beside her in the darkness.

_ "Once upon a time in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although the prince had everything his heart desired..."_

She could almost hear him breathe.

The illusion was dispelled when she heard a soft voice. "Couldn't you sleep?"

She blinked, straightened. A hot blush came to her cheeks. "I'm so sorry! Did I wake you? Or Nadir?" she asked hurriedly, mortified at her carelessness. _Of all the inconsiderate things to do, Christine-_

Erik didn't look greatly upset. "No. As to Nadir, well, you could clash cymbals over his head and he wouldn't stir. He tends to sleep heavily for a few days after flights."

She felt slightly better. "Oh. What were you doing up?" She fiddled with her hair, twisting a strand around and around her finger. It was hard to make out his expression.

His eyes flicked to the screen, the glassy lights of it reflecting. "Composing. Why exactly-?"

She offered a tremulous smile, hoped it was steadier than it felt. "Beauty and the Beast. It was our favorite movie. My... father's and mine." Somehow it hurt less to speak of him here, in the darkness. When she could only barely distinguish his expression and he hers. Where there was only the night to hear them. With someone who did not feel the pain as she did, who her memories and her mourning couldn't hurt.

He seemed to hesitate. "Would you mind if I watched it with you?" She shook her head and sat up, making room on the couch for him. "It's all right." The illusion of her father's presence had disappeared, but it felt safer for him to stay. As though having another presence with her would protect her from the ghosts of her own imaginings.

He seated himself carefully, the flickering light dancing on his features. A brief flash of brightness caught her eyes as he looked at her, the mask a lighter patch in the darkness. Then it was gone.

Sometime during the movie, she spoke. She wasn't sure why, it just felt like the right thing to do. Not to break the quiet, but to stir it. "It's why I loved this so much."

He glanced at her, again the flash of the white mask, gleaming like his eyes. "Pardon?"

"The movie." she answered quietly. "She has such compassion for him, seeing beyond appearances." Christine smiled faintly. "I never could resist a happy ending."

His smile was tinged with a sardonic irony. "Not all stories end happily, Christine." The seraphic voice was roughened with bitterness.

"I know." she said softly. "But shouldn't they?"

**Erik**

The room darkened as the credits began, but that was no trouble to him. He could see quite well in the darkness. Nature, it seemed, had decided to balance out the marring of his face with a few such oddities.

Some balance.

Erik glanced to his left. "Christine?" He sighed. She had apparently fallen asleep sometime during the movie and was now oblivious to the world. Her face was calm, tranquil. The weary, tense look had gone, replaced by a softer, trusting serenity.. She was smiling slightly, an almost childlike gesture in its innocence. She was curled, catlike, against the arm of the couch, breathing deep and soft.

He debated leaving her there. She looked so peaceful- as she had not in the daylight. Then again, if she spent the night like that, she was going to wake up with a crick in her neck and half her body in a state of 'pins and needles'. As he well knew.

Erik shook her shoulder gently. "Christine? Christine?" he called her name softly.

She didn't stir. He shook her again, a little more insistently. "Christine? Wake up."

No response. Erik sighed irritably. _She owes me for this. _He scooped her up. She was startlingly light and he briefly wondered if she had been eating as healthily as she might- or if her father's death had brought her to succumbing to an eating disorder. The thought froze him briefly, he glanced down at her, alarmed. After a moment, he dismissed the notion. Christine was slender but she was hardly a stick, much less a skeleton. He put it down to her height. _Or lack thereof._ He smiled slightly.

He started as she stirred a little. _Oh,_ hell. This was hardly a time he wanted her to wake up.

In fact, it was harder to think of a _less_ opportune moment.

But she settled again, merely sighing against his shoulder. He managed to free a hand and to- awkwardly- get the door open. He laid her down, pulled the covers over top of her.

She had not woken during the whole process, caught deep in the grip of sleep.

_This is exactly why I never wanted children. _Erik thought, annoyed.

He wondered suddenly if Maya had children. He could almost see them, with her wide, starry green eyes, pale hair drifting across them...

The thought brought a sharp jolt through him, an almost physical pain. He slipped from the room, a hot anger and resentment flowering and spreading through his veins like fire through dry wood. And under it, a coldness. A dark and lonely coldness that he could not bring himself to recognize.

At least there was one thing that had never failed him, he thought as he seated himself a the piano. One thing that would never leave him.

At least he had this.

**Christine**

She was dreaming. She stood at her window, the moonlight bathing her, clothing her in pale light, like sheer fabric over her skin. Behind her she heard music, a piano, a soft voice. It was an unfamiliar song, but it seemed to draw her out of herself, her spirit reaching through her skin, to the source of the plaintive melody. Her heart trembled, soul shivering and reaching out like questing flames in response to the distant voice.

It was like rain over a wildfire, a smoldering underneath dark waters. Resentment and rejection burning under a cold wash of bitterness, an endless longing. Christine wondered briefly, hazily, why she would be dreaming of this.

Why, echoing in this whisper, she heard what her soul had been singing.


	10. Aetherius

**Disclaimer: Still don't own POTO. Only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters of this phic. Nor the song "Dante's Prayer" by Loreena McKennitt. Thank you again for all of your inspiring, philosophic reviews. I appreciate them very much. **

**Note I- This is not, by any means, the point at which Christine and Erik fall deeply and deliriously in love with each other. They simply begin to see each other in a different light about this time, not necessarily a romantic one. **

**Note II- Aetherius, Latin, translates to 'heavenly'.**

**Thanks for putting up with my ramblings. On to the story, then? **

**cookies n' hugs **

**Lee **

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**Aetherius**

**Nadir**

He resisted the urge to call up Richard again and lecture him, as he went into the kitchen. The lure of brewing coffee had been too much, even in his current state.

Christine frowned as he came in, poured him a cup. "What's the matter?" She looked rested, calm. About the exact opposite of what he felt.

Nadir raked a hand through his hair, flustered. "I got a call this morning. Apparently Richard threatened one of the lawyers with bodily harm." _Why did he let his temper get the better of him- he should know better! _"I'm sorry, Christine. I need to get there before this turns into a complete fiasco."

"It sounds as though it already is." came a melodic voice from the doorway. Erik stood there, coffee in hand. He appeared rather amused.

Nadir huffed. "Thank you for your supportive commentary, Erik."

The man's lips quirked. "I'm sure you'll manage, Nadir. If anyone can salvage this, it's you."

"Assuming there's something left _to_ salvage." Nadir muttered.

**Christine**

It was later, as she was helping her godfather pack, that she remembered a question she had wanted to ask him. "Uncle Nadir?"

He paused in the middle of putting on his coat. "Yes, Christine?" "You said you went to college with Erik. How exactly- I mean he looks..."

"Younger than I?" Nadir smiled slightly. "Thank you, Christine. As to your question, I went back some years ago to study law."

"Oh."

His face softened as he looked at her. "Take care. I'm going to miss you, Christine."

She hugged him tightly. "I'll miss you too." Christine closed her eyes at the heat that rushed to them. "I wish we could go to the airport with you." she whispered softly, wistfully.

Her godfather smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder. "I do too, Christine. But I couldn't ask that of Erik."

"Does he really hate himself that much?" she asked quietly. "That he's so- wary?"_ Even... afraid?_ she thought.

"Life has not dealt gently with Erik, Christine." Nadir said softly, voice meant for her ears alone. "Remember that."

She nodded. "I will, Uncle Nadir." There was no need to tell her that. She recalled the night she had first given him that embrace. The shock, the frozen tensing she had pretended not to notice. His complete lack of response. The wondering, wary look in the blue eyes, the sudden stillness of his face.

How his heart had suddenly sped under her ear.

_ I'll remember. _

Nadir hugged her shoulders. "One more thing. Christine?"

She pulled back to look at him. "Hmm?"

He hesitated. "About Raoul. He... likes to help people, but he can't fix everyone. Sometimes I think he forgets that. Especially after Dawn."

"Dawn?" Christine inquired.

Nadir shook his head. "A girl he once knew. It's enough to say that he lost her. You'd have to ask him, Christine. It's not my story to tell."

Questions raced through her mind, but she could see that Nadir wasn't going to answer them. About the mysterious girl or Raoul's intentions toward Christine herself. _Am I just something on his to-do list?_ Christine felt a flicker of annoyance. What kind of friendship was that!

Was it even a friendship?

She smiled and hugged her godfather, pushing the irritation aside. "Don't worry, Nadir. I don't plan on letting myself become someone's fix-it project."_ Especially his._ She didn't know why, but that _he_ should view her as something broken to be mended, an patient rather than a friend, irked her.

Nadir was still speaking. "...I think he is very- fond- of you, Christine. Just be careful, for me, would you?"

She smiled. "Of course. Don't worry about me."

He tousled her hair, returning her smile. "I always worry about you, Christine." He winked. "Do you know how many grey hairs are your doing?"

"They make you look very distinguished." she told him solemnly.

He laughed, eyes dancing. "So you say."

"You should believe me, then." Christine picked up one of his suitcases. He took the other and they made their way down the hall.

Erik met them by the front door. "Have a good trip, Nadir."

Nadir nodded, smiling. "Try not to tear the apartment apart, both of you."

Erik's mouth curved. "I'm sure we can refrain from doing any permanent damage."

Christine nudged him; he looked down at her in mild surprise. "Especially if some of us have music lessons to distract us."

His eyes lightened. "Indeed." There was a distinct trace of amusement in his voice.

Nadir picked up his luggage. "Well, I'm off. Goodbye, both of you." He hugged Christine one last time, shook Erik's hand firmly.

She went to the window in the kitchen, watched him place his suitcases in the taxi. She tapped the glass. He glanced up and waved. She returned it as he climbed into the car.

She watched him until he was out of sight.

Later that day, she flipped through some of the recordings of her parents. She didn't know why she did it, really, would the sound of their voices bring them back? Would it revive them as more than memories? She did not think so. But still, she listened.

In some way, it was comforting to remember them as they had been. To hear their voices, even if she would never again hear them speak her name.

The breathy, ephemeral voice of her mother filled the room, a violin playing a chord of such sweetness it seemed to touch her soul, behind it. She closed her eyes, joining the ethereal voice with her own. The music traced through her like tender roots questing through earth, water over stone.

_"When the dark wood fell before me  
and all the paths were overgrown,  
when the priests of pride say there is no other way-  
I tilled the sorrows of stone."_

Christine felt a rise in her throat, a salty, sweet warmth, as she sang with her mother. If she was silent in her mind, so silent that any thought seemed to disturb it like a ripple through a pond, sometimes she could remember. She could remember, faintly and far-off, a voice in the darkness. The scent of honey and clover, a warm hand upon her head. A rocking sensation, as though she were in a cradle.

Perhaps they were only dreams, and not true memories. But Christine didn't think so. She knew differently. It was her mother, before she had passed away, a mother who had rocked her to sleep. Whose voice had lulled her into dreams.

_"I did not believe because I could not see,  
though you came to me in the night.  
When the dawn seemed forever lost,  
you showed me your love in the light of the stars."_

She had pictures. Pictures of a woman with eyes like a spring grove in bloom, hair like a sunrise over the desert. Pictures of that woman holding a dark-eyed infant, her lost-seeming eyes intent and loving, her hands cradling with tender delicacy, the girl in her arms. Caressing the fine curls, with the trace of a smile curving her lips.

But the pictures could not bridge the distance between them. The closest thing she had to that was to sing with her. Then, for a little while, at least, she could close her eyes and feel the spirit behind the voice at her side. Within her.

_ Mom._

_"Cast your eyes on the ocean.  
Cast your soul to the sea.  
When the dark night seems endless-  
please remember me."_

_I remember, Mom. _

_I remember._

She dreamed, sometimes, of herself as a child, barely out of infanthood. A warm summer sun basked her in light, the shrill cries of gulls passed around her, the echoing crash of the ocean a deeper undertone. Her mother and father sat with her between them. She held a smooth, pale shell in her hands, running her hands over the smooth opalescence of it as her feet sifted through the warm sand. Salt air surrounded her, filling her, spreading through her like a healing balm.

Was that only a dream?

_"Then the mountain rose before me,  
by the deep well of desire.  
From the fountain of forgiveness,  
beyond the ice and the fire."_

She remembered turning to see their hands entwined behind her as they looked over her head, at each other. Into each other, in such a way that it ached to see. To feel the closeness between them at only a single glance. With such love that it made her feel so small, almost alone. How was it possible, a love like that, that seemed to transcend words or touch? That lit such a fire that blazed like an oriflamme for all to see?

That almost seemed to close everything else out?

_"Cast your eyes on the ocean.  
Cast your soul to the sea.  
When the dark night seems endless-  
please remember me."_

Until they looked down at the child gazing up at them with wide, inquisitive eyes. Then they would gather her to their arms, and her father would speak softly, her favorite stories, of a girl called Little Lotte

Her voice rose, with her mothers, in a wordless, ascending melody. That sent her soul out of herself like the sparks of a fire spiraling into the star-filled sky. She immersed herself in the sensation, the plaintive, lonely promise, as though she called something to herself. Called beyond the physical world, touching something beyond the flat surface, touching an ephemeral something that wound itself around her spirit in answer, filling her with a glowing light. She felt a sting at her eyes, as though she had suddenly looked into the heart of the sun.

_"Though we share this humble path, alone,  
how fragile is the heart.  
Oh, give these clay feet wings to fly,  
to touch the face of the stars."_

Her mother's voice reached out and caressed her. Christine sang to that voice, the woman who had loved her. The woman of whose body and soul she was born. The woman who had left such a mark of love on her before passing. Had given her such a gift in her voice. Had left so much of herself with her daughter. Her love... and her music.

A music that allowed her to say more than what mere words could tell. Could give those words meaning and flight beyond any mortal speech. That allowed her, briefly, a connection to the mother who was still so much a part of her.

_"Breathe life into this feeble heart.  
Lift this mortal veil of fear.  
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears.  
We'll rise above these earthly cares."_

The mother who had given her such love, such depthless, endless care, before she had passed into shadow. Who had comforted her as a child still unable to speak, a voice of reassurance in the night, a warm smile in the morning. A mother who had gifted her with a love and a voice with which to give it.

A mother who had managed to hold on, briefly, to life, for love.

_"Cast your eyes on the ocean.  
Cast your soul to the sea.  
When the dark night seems endless-  
please remember me..._

_... please remember me."_

Christine ended. The last strains of the violin vibrated through her, fading with their voices, hers and her mothers. Until, at last, there was only the memory. A memory and the fading glow inside of her, like a blaze paling to warm embers. From the remote burning of stars to the reassuring warmth of a fire on a midwinter night.

**Erik**

He heard her voice winding through the apartment. At first, a wordless melody, than a question, a wish. A remembrance.

He followed the sound of it, drawn inexorably, like a moth to the flame. Her voice vibrated through the air, reaching past the physical body to the spirit it housed. He felt it touch him, brush against his soul, as no other sound, no other music had, save his own. Stirred ripples of strange emotions, a whispering touch like wind through willow trees.

Her eyes were closed, head tilted back as she sang. She seemed completely unaware of anything but the music.

It was strange. He had never seen her look so alive- yet at the same time, so surreal. A rawness and a lucidity to her features, a light that seemed to come from within her skin. She didn't look like the young girl he was so accustomed to seeing. She looked... grown. As old and as yet as ageless as time. A transcendent radiance to her face that surpassed and transformed the innocence and the youth he knew. A vibrance, a sheer, soul-baring emotion that touched him and, like flame, flowered through him in a bright blaze as it did.

_"...please remember me."_

Her voice echoed faintly, than evanesced into nothingness. There was only the sound of their breathing in the silence.

Her eyes opened, met his. They were wide and dark and endless, a glowing effervescence like sunlight through autumn leaves. Her voice was soft.

"I miss them."

"I know."

**Nadir**

_"...please remember me."_

The call of their music echoed through his mind, as he seated himself on the plane. Charles and Catherine. He had been there, one of the nights they performed it. He remembered now, how, under the dim stage lights, her voice, his music, had seemed to touch them all, to set a flame in each of them so that they were like a blaze of stars in the night sky, in the darkness of the concert hall.

He remembered their eyes, as the song ended and they looked at each other.

Endless, loving eyes.


	11. Axis

**Disclaimer: I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. POTO does not belong to me. Thank you for all of your inspiring, detailed, and just plain wonderful reviews!**

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee**

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**Axis**

**Christine**

"Hello?" Christine asked breathlessly, having raced from her room to the kitchen to answer the insistently ringing phone.

Raoul's cheery voice came. "Hey, Chris. Run a marathon?"

She smiled wryly. "Very funny. I was at the other end of the apartment when the phone rang."

He sounded as though he was trying not to laugh. "I see. Well, I was calling to see if you had any time on your hands."

"You know, I think I do." Christine replied warmly. It was hard to resist when he gave her that appealing charm.

Raoul's voice brightened noticeably. "Great! I'll pick you up in twenty minutes, then?"

Christine glanced at the clock. "Sounds good."

"See you then, Chris."

She half-smiled. "See you." She sighed and put the phone back in its cradle.

_Just what am I to him?_

**Erik**

Christine stood by the phone, staring absently into space. Her eyes were faraway, her brows contracted slightly. She looked mildly concerned, unsettled.

"Christine?"

She blinked, then turned to look at him. "I'm sorry. I was a little out of it there. Did you need something?"

He shrugged. "I take it then, that that was not Nadir and that his flight did not land early?"

She shook her head. "No. Raoul just called to see if I was free."

"And?"

She seemed preoccupied, running a hand through her hair distractedly. "I told him yes; he said he'd be over soon." Her eyes widened. "Erik, you weren't going to ask if I wanted a singing lesson, were you?" Christine's hand flew to her mouth. "I'm so sorry, I should have thought of that before... I could always call him back if..." she trailed off worriedly.

Erik felt a twang of disappointment. She gave him an apologetic smile, and to her credit, she did seem genuinely upset. "It's perfectly all right, Christine."

Her shoulders dropped as she relaxed. "Thanks." She looked up at him, eyes relieved and regretful. "I really am sorry."

He gave her a faint smile. "There's no need to apologize, Christine."

She paused, smiled back with a trace of anxiety. "Thank you. I'm sorry, but I need to go and..."

Erik nodded. "Get ready?"

She laughed breathily. He detected a note of uncertainty in it. "Yeah." She brushed past him. "Maybe we can reschedule to tonight?" She looked at him over her shoulder.

He inclined his head. "If you like."

A smile spread across her face. "I would. Thank you again."

He saw the smile fade from her face as she turned away. A faint whisper came floating back to him as she walked up the hall.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

**Christine**

"I don't know what I'm doing." she said under her breath. The look of disappointment on Erik's face, well concealed, but there nonetheless. The pang of guilt it gave her to turn down his invitation.

Did she really want to go with Raoul after all? He was fun, there was mutual liking, but why did she feel like there was something that wasn't being said between them?

_I'll find out today. I'll find out just what it is that's bothering me about this._

**Raoul**

She seemed a bit quiet when he picked her up, quiet even for her. He caught her giving him odd, sidelong glances. Her nervous demeanor remained past lunch, even as they walked into his apartment. She didn't even shiver in the sudden blast of the air conditioning.

_What's bothering her?_

"Christine?" he asked.

She looked up at him, almost startled. "Yes?"

He studied her face, the worried eyes, tense mouth. "What's wrong?"

Christine turned away, looking at the photos on the mantel. "It's nothing... I just... Raoul, who is that?"

He blinked at the non sequitor and looked to where she was pointing.

Dark eyes smiled back at him.

Raoul looked back to Christine, who was watching him almost carefully. "Her name was Dawn."

Her eyes widened. "Oh. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, it was rude of me-"

He smiled, shook his head. "It's all right, Christine. I've come to terms with it."

Christine looked back to the photo. "You and she were... close?"

Raoul glanced at the photo, the brilliant, laughing smile. "We were high school sweethearts. We met junior year at her uncle's ski lodge, stayed together until freshmen year in college. That was the year she..." he stopped. He felt suddenly as though he had become part of another world- a world of memories.

Christine's brows contracted. "I'm sorry, Raoul. I shouldn't have asked." Her arms encircled him briefly, in apology.

He caught her as she began to pull away. "It's all right, Christine. It... feels better to talk about it, if you want to know." Her warmth against him was oddly reassuring.

The same light of compassion sparked in her eyes. "Only if you want to tell."

He inhaled deeply, let it out, smiled faintly. "We were together for three years. If you asked me if we'd been in love, I'd have to say yes. She was... well, she was amazing. Compassionate, intelligent, funny." Christine looked up at him solemnly, eyes sympathetic.

He continued. "It was that winter that she- had an accident. She loved to snowboard; it was something that we did together whenever we had a chance. She'd been snowboarding since she could walk.'

'Her board caught while she was three-quarters up the slope. She fell. She broke her neck."

"I'm so sorry, Raoul." Christine's eyes were dark, endless, radiant with the compassionate light that hers had once had. He felt her arms tighten briefly around him in sympathy, then she released him.

He pushed aside the emotions the memories and the touch had stirred, smiled. "So what about you, Christine? Any old flames?" he asked lightly, attempting to steer the conversation back to normalcy. Back to the present, where he need not think about the past.

She smiled wryly, not seeming to notice his discomfort. "One. When I was sixteen. He and I split when he wanted to go out with another girl."

"I'm sorry." He reached out and hugged her shoulders. "That guy was an idiot, you know."

She laughed, moved away a little. "It's all right. If he didn't care enough to stay with me, he wasn't worth my time. That's... what Dad told me anyway."

Raoul smiled. "A very wise man, your father." Then his eyes became intent on hers, his voice softer. "What if he had cared enough to stay with you?"

Her eyes flicked down and away, searching the room as though she hoped to find the answer somewhere on the walls. Her eyes passed over the clock, she paused. "I think I'd better be getting back."

_ Too soon._ Raoul realized._ Now you've upset her._ He gave her a reassuring smile, hoping to relax her once more. "That's probably a good idea, Chris." She shrugged and did not meet his eyes.

**Christine**

A complex swirling spun at her core, a vortex in which she could see the smiling photos of Dawn, Raoul's intent face, memories in the hazel depths.

Dawn. There was something about the girl that Christine could not quite put her finger on. A dark-eyed, vibrant young woman, laughing at the camera. Her pale face flushed with joy, eyes sparkling, curly hair flying in a snow-laden wind. Carefree, lively eyes, glinting in the bright sunlight.

The way Raoul had changed the subject so suddenly, even though he insisted he was comfortable telling her all of this. His relief when she allowed it to happen, almost palpable. As though he dared not think of her for too long, had to concentrate on someone's problems other than his own. His reaction to her teenage breakup.

_"What if he had cared enough to stay with you?"_

She did not quite remember saying goodbye to him, caught up as she was in her own thoughts. She paused in the antechamber of her home to think. What had he meant by that?

Surely he didn't like her _that_ way. She hadn't given him any signals of that nature, hadn't promised anything, verbally or otherwise, beyond friendship. Surely he hadn't thought of her in those terms? Didn't he know she didn't have any feelings for him beyond friendship?

_Surely he doesn't mean..._

Nevertheless, it had been a pretty broad hint, at least to her mind. Christine ran a hand through her hair._ Maybe I'm misinterpreting what he said. Maybe I'm overreacting. I'll think about this later. I can't right now. If I'm wrong, I could completely ruin what was nothing more than a good friendship. _

_But if you're right...? _inquired a small voice in the back of her head. She shoved that thought away, flinching from the uncertainty it stirred. Oh, if only this were night. If only this were night and her Angel of Music was with her, his voice washing away all of her fears. If only this were a dream she had woken from and she could reach out a hand for her Angel. If only...

Christine massaged her aching temples. Her head pounded with the force of her thoughts._ God, I need coffee. I need something to clear my head._

She looked up as she heard footsteps.

Erik eyed her with mild concern. "Are you all right, Christine?"

She forced a smile._ He doesn't need to hear a teen angst, Christine. Don't go spilling all your problems on him_. "Just a headache."

"You know," she said, reviving five minutes later over a cup of fragrantly steaming coffee. "I've lived here for over a week and I still know next to nothing about you." How strange, she'd never thought of it before.

He raised an eyebrow, appearing amused. "What are you suggesting, Christine? A game of twenty questions?"

She laughed. "Oh, I'm sure I'd go above twenty!"

His lips curved faintly. "That interesting, am I?"

She returned the gesture. "You, sir, are an enigma. I'll make you a deal- quid pro quo? Anything but embarrassing childhood anecdotes."

"Heavens." he replied lightly, eyes gleaming. "You've foiled my cunning plot."

Christine laughed. "If I've managed to throw _you _off balance, I know I've done well. May I ask the first question?"

He sipped at his coffee. "By all means."

"What is it exactly that you do?"

"You do go straight to the point, don't you?" He looked distinctly amused at her admittedly personal question. "I am an architect and a composer. The majority of my musical works are operas."

A sudden understanding blossomed in her as she recalled the figure by the piano, the music in the night. "Then that's why you play so well?"

Erik smiled slightly. "I suppose. That's two questions, Christine."

She sighed. "All right. Your turn."

"The song you most love to sing."

She flushed. "You'll laugh."

The blue eyes were solemn. "I promise you, I won't."

"It was a piece I found one day at the house." Christine smiled reminiscently. "It doesn't sound anything like what a teenager would enjoy."

"Well then, what is it?" Erik asked.

Christine looked down. "The Angel of Music."

Glancing up, she saw his eyes gleam, his lips curve. "You _are _laughing at me." she accused.

Erik smiled and shook his head. "Not for the reasons you think, Christine. Did you ever find out who wrote it?"

She shook her head. "Never." Christine looked back at him quizzically. "What was your other question?" _Since I can't embarrass myself any more than I already have._

"What would you like for dinner?"

She blinked. "What?"

Erik's lips twitched as he explained patiently. "I'm offering to make dinner. It's only fair, how many nights have you done it now?"

"But-"

"What would you like?" he repeated as she protested weakly. "I am more than capable, Christine. I promise you, I will not burn down the apartment."

She smiled weakly. "Pasta would be fine."

"Pasta it is. Go relax, Christine. You look tired."

"Gee, thanks." Christine made a face at him on her way out. Then she leaned back to peer around the doorway. "You're sure you won't burn the kitchen down?"

A faint smile hovered in his eyes. "Would it be such a tragedy if I did? Nadir has such appalling taste in wallpaper."

Christine laughed. "I think painting over it is a better alternative to torching it, myself. A lot less mess." She saw him shake his head as she left the room, repressing a smile.

**Erik**

He heard her footsteps fade away down the hall, smiled to himself. _The Angel of Music, Christine?_ He hadn't seen that one coming.

He wondered idly what she would think, if she knew who had written it.

Then his thoughts shifted. To her face when she had come in, the smile that had not reached her weary eyes. What had happened in that meeting with the boy, that took the spark from her autumnal eyes? Made them glazed and frozen, turned inward. What was it that brought her face to such remote stillness when she returned? That rendered the lively, angelic voice lifeless and dull?

_ He wouldn't be..._

No. Nadir trusted him, and, whatever Erik's personal distaste for the boy, Nadir's word ought to be good enough for him.

So what was it then? He drummed his fingers on the counter. Could he have insulted her unintentionally? It was probable, he could certainly be tactless enough at times. _And she's just polite enough to smile and take it. Poor girl._

"Hi." Her voice sounded a great deal more relaxed. He turned.

"You're just in time."

She smiled slightly, brushing back the hair that fell around her shoulders. "Convenient how that works out." She surveyed the room. "I see the kitchen is still intact."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "O ye of little faith."

She went about setting the table. "Consider me converted hereafter." She stretched, could not quite reach the top shelf. And sighed in frustration.

He leaned over and handed her the plates from the shelf. She gave him a look that was half exasperation, half wry humor. "Do you realize how irritating that is?"

"Would you prefer a stepladder?" he inquired.

She winced. "Thank you, no. My pride is bruised enough as it is."

"Height is nothing to be ashamed of, Christine." he said lightly.

She scowled up at him. "So _you_ say."

Erik smiled slightly. "I don't believe this is an argument I'll ever win with you."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Nor should you try."

**Christine**

"You know," she said ten minutes later, feeling pleasantly full. "That was quite lovely."

"I try."

She laughed. "Is there-"

The phone rang. Christine jumped, slid from her chair. "I've got it. Hello?"

"Christine. How are things back at home?"

Christine felt her face break out into a smile. "Things are just fine, Uncle Nadir. How are you?"

"I've had better meetings." Nadir said, voice laden with irony. "Have you had a music lesson yet, Christine?"

She smiled and looked over to Erik. "Let me ask."


	12. Atelier

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated music or characters, nor the song "Night Ride Across The Caucasus" by Loreena McKennitt. I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.  
Thank you for all of the lovely, encouraging reviews.  
Hope this is a good start to your weekend!**

**Lee**

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**Atelier**

**Christine**

She looked around her in something akin to wonder as she entered his sanctuary. The music room. It was... beautiful. The embodiment of the potent, soul-wrenching music he made. Baroque, ornate. Exquisite. Almost like the throne rooms of the old monarchies. Cream-colored, unlit candles were all around, sharing their space with Grecian busts. A bronze phoenix stood at the end of a mahogany divan.

One entire wall flooded the room with the light of dawn, roseate, aureate. Flames of light trailed through the room, caressing and warming. They brushed her bare feet, traveled up as she made her way in, warm as a touch on her skin, gilding her skin with light, touching her hair with fiery fingers.

Christine turned her eyes to what was, to her way of thinking, an oddity. The other sides of the room were draped in deep red, like dying flames, but where the fabric lifted away, she saw a silver glint of bright light.

Mirrors. She realized. They were mirrors. But why did he cover them?

_For the same reason he covers his face._

But then, if that were true, why have them in here at all?

The paradoxes and the questions flew through her like wind coaxing a melody from harpstrings. Like wings beating against the sky, wind shivering green leaves. What was the meaning of this room, where his music became tangible? Where she could feel it as a physical reality, brushing against her skin?

_What does he see, in those mirrors, that he must keep them covered?_ Not for the first time, she wondered just what- or who- Erik Destler was afraid of.

She glanced over at him as he came into the room. In this room, his sanctum, this altar to music, he seemed suddenly more powerful, a magnetic figure drawing in everything around him. A king in his domain, a surety and a potent grace to his movements. His eyes were bright, glowing almost, a light and a presence gathering about him.

He gestured. "Such as it is." Even his voice had changed, softened, deepened. Slipping inside her mind with frightening ease. He seemed to be waiting for her reaction.

She smiled shakily, still absorbing the strange majesty of the room, the odd power it seemed to convey to him, cloaking him in some enigmatic aura. "It's beautiful." Her voice rippled around the room, breathless and wondering.

His eyes lightened. "This way." He swept past her to the piano, gleaming in the dawn light, the refracted sunbeams broken only by a scattering of papers across it. She followed in his wake, feeling the fantastical mystery of the room envelop her. She glanced at the piano again, where she could see an intriguing title in a bold, flowing hand, amidst the papers, like a splash of brilliant color in a drift of autumn leaves.

_Don Juan Triumphante_.

He saw where she was looking. "Not that, Christine."

Christine gave him an inquiring glance. "Will I ever see it?"

A slight smile curved his mouth, warmed his eyes. "Perhaps someday. Now." The level of his voice did not change, but there was a new and subtle power to it. Soft undercurrents that ran like the swirling waters beneath the still surface of a river. His hands caressed the keys with loving tenderness. "Scales, Christine."

**Erik**

Her voice was... heavenly. Seraphic. He was amazed at her range, amazed at the strange windfall he had received in her voice. To think that he had the chance to train and develop that voice made him catch his breath, unsure if this were not a fantastical dream.

He was tempted, as her voice soared and suffused the room with a resonant glory, to see what she would be able to do with his own music. To find out if his imaginings would be fulfilled in that ethereal voice. He could envision the angelic voice, filling the spirit with a strange, sweet sound.

What would happen, if the two were combined? His music and her voice?

Lost within his own musings, he was brought back to reality as her voice faltered. He half-turned to face her as she fell silent. "Christine?"

Her voice was unsteady. "Yes?"

Christine's eyes were wide and not altogether calm. There were dark things stirring beneath the surface, an odd, familiar shimmer gilding the chestnut depths. The light glittering on her eyes trembled. She looked down briefly.

"I'm sorry. It's just-" her voice caught. "- remembering."

He lost himself in the maelstrom in her eyes for a moment, trying to look beyond the strangely glimmering surface.

There was pain. There was a stark and shadowy loneliness. Guilt, regret, a bitter longing. And something that hid just beneath those, something that touched him like a finger to a piano key, a purity that vibrated through the air. It was tremulous, fragile as a moment in time.

He remembered, with a small pulse of shock, that there was more to her than the voice he'd just heard. That there was a soul behind the sound, a spirit behind the voice. Something like shame crept through him as he reminded himself of that.

I_'m sorry, Christine. To have thought of you as only a voice. _

_It was selfish of me._

She was watching him with eyes like the ocean in a storm, tempest-tossed. A desperation and a despair beginning to surface in them.

He stood before that could happen. Leading her over to the window, he laid his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face the dawn sky. Her breath shook, her skin hummed underneath his hands.

"Do you see the heavens, Christine?" he asked softly. She gave a slow, slight nod. His voice lowered, intensified with the power that had soothed her when she had reached out to him that night.

"Sing to them, Christine. Sing to Heaven."

**Christine**

There came a time, in that room, as the sun ribbed the clouds with breathing opalescence, like the inside of a shell, where her throat closed and her eyes filled. She could feel them all around her. Her mother, her father. Their music wove through her mind, their hands on her shoulders, their presence at her side. She heard a murmur in her mind, reverberating through her soul.

_Christine, Christine._

Her parents voices at her ear.

She must have made a sound, for he turned from the piano. His expression changed from distraction to concern as he looked at her. "Christine?"

"Yes?" Her voice was a bare whisper. Inside her she felt something rising, desperately tried to quell it before it came to the surface.

It took her two tries. "I'm sorry. It's just- remembering."

He studied her for a moment, she felt the breath leave her body at the force behind that look. Not that it was a dark look, nor one of anger or disgust. It was the power behind that gaze, as though he were looking past the surface of her eyes, beneath the ripples and reflections to the depths beneath. Seeing- and knowing. Eyes that looked straight into her.

At last he stood. Coming over to her, he guided her to where the dawn imbued the sky with glowing color. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. His voice was soft in her ear.

"Do you see the heavens, Christine?"

She nodded, half-hypnotized by the voice that seemed almost to come from within her own mind.

"Sing to them, Christine." he whispered. "Sing to Heaven."

_To my parents_. she thought.

_To my Angel._

Christine breathed in deeply, the sunrise filling her lungs, her soul, with light, rejuvenating. She felt some mystic energy enter her, vibrating through her, humming through her veins. She felt herself tremble.

Her voice lifted like a phoenix from the ashes. In a blaze of glory, vivid and alive against the dull and darkened ash. Bright and pure and liberating. Soaring to the heavens, in this dawning over the world. She could feel their touch in the light that hit her skin.

_To them._

She had heard their voices in the night, and upon waking in the morning, had felt their music and their memories brush against her in her dreams. Her parents and her Angel. Their music had touched her, had soothed her when she dreamed once more of death. In her night's journey, in her day's struggle, they were by her side.

_"There are visions, there are memories,  
there are echoes of thundering hooves.  
There are fires, there is laughter,  
there's the sound of a thousand doves."_

Her mother's eyes smiled at her, endless pools of spring edged in sunlight. Laughter seemed to echo through her, the sounds of her childhood. The sounds of the sunlight, the hopes, the dreams they had given her.

She could smell the warm earth and rain of her mother's garden, where she had played as a child. She could feel the sun-warmed soil beneath her, feel the smooth caress of leaves against her skin. The heady scents of growth drifted in the air. Somewhere, a mourning dove called, voice a plaintive question.

Were there doves in Heaven, she wondered. Doves adding their sweet echo to her mother's voice?

_Mom... are there doves in Heaven?_

_"In the velvet of the darkness,  
by the silhouette of silent trees-  
they are watching, they are waiting.  
They are witnessing life's mysteries."_

Christine had felt their eyes upon her as she lay down to sleep, a child comforted by her parents, a guarding, loving presence as she smoothed her small hands over the pale cotton. She had felt a hand rest on her curls, caress them briefly. And then a voice would begin to sing to her, softly, sweetly, with the soothing melody of the violin in the background, lulling her into dreams of sunlight.

She could feel them now, watching their daughter. Hearing her as she sang to them. Her voice seemed to bridge the distance between them, a tenuous connection like spider silk cast out in all directions questing for a pillar to anchor itself to.

_"Cascading stars on the slumbering hills.  
They are dancing as far as the sea.  
Riding o'er the land, you can feel its gentle hand  
leading on to its destiny."_

She could hear the voice of the ocean. She was a child again, dancing along the shore, spray and sand flying beneath her feet, the endless blue sky whirling above her. Her feet sinking briefly in the damp sand as it gave beneath her. White foam scattering under her steps. Waves frothing against her ankles, wind brushing against her hair. Her parents looked on, until at last, they came to stand beside her and all three of them were still before the sunlit waters, watching the sun bathe the sea in flame as it rose, golden, above the horizon.

_"Take me with you on this journey,  
where the boundaries of time are now tossed.  
In cathedrals of the forest,  
in the words of tongues now lost."_

_You've gone where I can't follow, not yet. But promise me that you'll follow me? Promise me that you'll be with me when I need you? _

_That my Angel of Music will stay with me?_

If there was an answer, it was not one of the tangible or the flesh. It was one of the forgotten answers, one of those found deep within the self, there from the time of birth. A presence at her core, an omniscience, a strange, half-dreamt of sentience. A presence that, when touched, sent ripples of emotion, energy, coursing through her. An echo of its surety, its reassurance that filled her skin. A chant singing through her veins like the answer to a prayer.

_"Find the answers, ask the questions,  
find the roots of an ancient tree.  
Take me dancing, take me singing,  
I'll ride on till the moon meets the sea."_

Christine's voice faded as the words ended. Inside, she felt a warmth, a glow that pressed against her skin, a pulsing vibration like fire through her veins. A song in her spirit.

She opened her eyes and remembered that it was dawn. As the sense of her parents faded from her, she felt the protective aura of her Angel of Music envelop her. The Angel her father had promised her held her under his wings in the morning light. A serenity flowed through her, easing and ebbing through her spirit like waves upon the shore.

She realized she was leaning back against him. But with the echoes of the music, the presence of her Angel, still glowing like embers within her, she couldn't bring herself to care. With the strange currents that wove through her, the music trailing like wings across the sky within her, she couldn't summon the energy to move, caught within the fantastical rhythm singing through her, uplifting her.

She glanced up over her shoulder at him. "Very good, Christine." His eyes were warm, approving. She had a sudden sense of genesis, an emergence. His hands slipped from her shoulders, she suppressed the vague sense of vertigo. He faded back from her and she rested her forehead against the window, the golden light anointing her brow. "I could feel them." she whispered, not trusting anything louder. Her heart began to pound low in her ears, beating a throbbing tattoo against her ribs.

His eyes were unreadable. There was a warmth, a concern, but also the same complexity she had seen when he had first heard her sing. The same tentative feel, as though she looked into the heart of a flower opening under sunlight. When she had opened her eyes and seen him looking at her with wondering, startled eyes.

Eyes like the sea upon the shore.

"I could feel them." Her voice shook.

"Christine-"

She felt tears start at the corners of her eyes, a burning heat. Her throat tightened, heart constricting. She closed her eyes, feeling water brim against them, clinging to her skin. The salt-sweetness of the ocean against her lips. She shivered as she allowed the enormity of it to hit her.

_I felt them. I heard them. As though they were right here beside me. As though..._

She felt a sob rise, fought it and coughed. "Sorry." she mumbled, not meeting the eyes she felt upon her. Christine crossed her arms over herself, trying to cling to composure.

It was a battle she was doomed to lose. Her vision blurred, smearing into stripes of color, her mouth suffused with the tang of tears, face stinging under the rawness of her mourning.

She moved blindly toward him; her arms went tightly around him. She felt him tense again, as he had that first time, felt him freeze, taut, the blood suddenly racing. Felt him look down at her in surprise.

She didn't care. He was safe- someone to hold onto.

And, at this moment, that was all she needed.

**Erik**

He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected this- break- in the walls she'd built around herself. Not so soon. Not so suddenly. He certainly hadn't expected that she would come to him for comfort. He felt adrenaline rushing through him as she clung to him. This was not something he was particularly comfortable with. His experience with sobbing girls was minimal, he had all but forgotten the sensation, and was not entirely comfortable with remembering it. He felt her shaking against him. _She's going to make herself sick._ He recalled that much, at least.

She was also completely soaking his shirt, he realized.

Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder, it seemed like the right thing to do. "It's all right, Christine." His voice was pitched softly, soothingly. "It's all right."

The tightening of her arms was the only answer he received. "Shh." He embraced her tentatively, stroking the head buried against his shoulder. A nervous tension jumped through him.

_I have no idea what the hell I'm doing._

Her sobs subsided after a while, though her body still shook. She turned a tear-streaked, reddened face to him. "Sorry. I'm crying all over you and-" she hiccuped, laughed a little hysterically.

"Don't apologize for it, Christine." he said quietly. "Everyone cries at some point or another."

**Christine**

_God- I can't believe I did that. Just went and broke down on him. What kind of dysfunctional idiot am I?_

He was looking at her in something like shock. As though he was still trying to absorb the idea of a teenage girl sobbing all over him.

Her breath shook. "I didn't mean to do that, you know." Her voice was small. A tiny ball of fear coalesced inside her. What would he think of her after this? After she had lost all control-and in front of him?

"It's all right, Christine." His voice lowered, softened. "Don't you think it's time you mourned them?" His arms were firmer around her now, as though he were more sure of himself. As though he genuinely cared. Christine's lungs felt abruptly tight, airless.

It was suddenly hard to meet his eyes, so bright, so intent on hers. She looked down, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "I don't know." Her throat burned, heat pricking her eyes again.

His hand rested against her hair as the tears began to flow once more.

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**Hope you liked.  
**

**Lee **


	13. Arcanum

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, nor the song "Full Circle" by Loreena McKinnett. I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.  
**

** Note I- Arcanum is Latin for 'secret' or 'mystery'  
**

**Thank you, for all of your reviews. Wow. I'm a bit overwhelmed here. In a good, touched, awed and humbled kind of way. Thank you so much, everyone who reviewed.**

**Lee**

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**Arcanum**

**Christine**

There seemed to be a sort of unspoken agreement between her and Raoul, to forget their conversation of the past week. A tacit understanding between the two of them that any mention of that day was taboo.

But an agreement only not to speak of it. He still gave her that odd, sidelong glance, a mix of attentive worry and care. His voice still carried the undertones of warmth and concern. When he touched her- and refrained from touching her- there was still that wistfulness to his movements, an unvoiced longing.

There was a sense that he was waiting.

But for what?

For her?

She didn't know. But she had begun to wonder. Would it be so harmful to give him a chance? Had she really been fair to him, to pull away when he so clearly wished for nothing more than to be able to comfort her? At least now she knew that there was more to their relationship than a wish on his part to 'fix' her. There was a sense that he wanted to do more than that. That he might want to feel affection for her, even love her.

Would it be unfair to deny him at least a chance?

It was this that had led her, had led the two of them, to be walking in the park together. It was noon, there were children running through the grass, screaming with laughter and intent on games of their own. The sandy gravel crackled underneath their shoes, the sun felt warm against her face. Christine brushed back a curl escaped from its constraints. Birdcalls flitted past them in cheerful trills and whistles. The bright sunlight, shining as a magician's mirror, seemed to have brought out all ages to revel in the growth of summertime.

An unoccupied bench beckoned. She and Raoul seated themselves and leaned back against it. The sunwarmed wood pressed hard against her spine.

Raoul laid an arm over her shoulders as her eyes followed a golden retriever racing after an airborne frisbee, a red blur that it snatched out of midair. Christine forced away her uncertainty at the touch and resisted the urge to pull away.

_ Is it so wrong to give him a chance? _she thought distractedly. She felt vaguely unsettled, there was a nebulous murmur that whispered to her to run and keep running. A faint fluttering as though she longed to fly away. The elusive presence brushed against her soul, appealing to her to go. That she didn't want to be here. That she _shouldn't_ be here. Christine fixed her eyes on a distant flock of crows, hovering on the outskirts of a picnic, and hoped that they did not give her away. That there would be nothing in the mahogany depths to betray her.

She ignored the tremulous sensations, the quiet whispers. Raoul's eyes on her were so warm, so hopeful. How could she run when she could help him? How could she deny him that hope? He only wanted to do the same for her.

Perhaps she only needed time.

_Maybe I can..._

Nevertheless, on that bright summer's day, the sun cast a shadow of doubt into her heart. She looked up into the blue sky, as though she hoped to find an affirmation in the bright depths of the heavens.

That brilliantly blue sky.

_ Angel... why do I feel like this isn't right?  
_

_Angel... what should I do? _

_What can I do?_

**Raoul**

The summer's air was almost a narcotic to him as he sat beside her. He knew that he had upset Chris with his impulsive question seven days ago. He knew that neither of them were to mention it.

But surely there was something in that she had agreed to meet with him again, even if she seemed to have chosen to forget his query. Surely there was something in her agreement to come with him to the park this afternoon. In that she had consented to see him again when he had called the day after that conversation- and continued to see him.

The thought, the hope that stirred inside him when she did not pull from his touch made him almost lightheaded. She seemed to be giving him another chance, and to say that he was thankful for it was an understatement. His relief, his gratitude, washed over him in a restorative, balming wave. The summer sun seemed suddenly brighter.

He had to smile at her, as she stared off pensively into the distance. He played absently with an escaped curl, so lightly that she did not notice it. Just so had he and Dawn sat, one summer's day much like this. Just so had _her_ dark eyes glowed with the amber light of summertime.

What was she thinking of, with that faint cloud of trouble on her face? What was she thinking, as her eyes turned up to the blazing sky, where they suddenly seemed to question?

_Chris... what's the matter?_

He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly and her head turned toward his, eyes slightly surprised, as though she had been startled in the midst of some daydream. He smiled reassuringly. After a moment she returned it, her eyes slipping from his to lift up once more to the brilliant sky. Her lips moved faintly, briefly. Silently.

She broke from her reverie with a suddenness that startled him. "I think I'd better be getting back."

He smiled. "Sure." He wasn't going to push her when he had just gotten close again. He wasn't going to be taking any chances for a while.

**Erik**

He heard her voice bidding someone goodbye and paused in his playing.

Him. The boy. Erik felt a twinge of annoyance. Having the boy around, however briefly, grated on his nerves. Such a sanctimonious, thoughtless boy. He was more of a child than her, Erik noted wryly.

And that he should be pursuing her so blatantly, so obviously while she was still under the shadow of her father's death... well, it didn't sit well with Erik. That he should be so selfishly interested in her when she was still mourning, not allowing her a time to grieve before whisking her off. As though he hoped to make her forget, rather than accepting that she could and should grieve.

For she did still grieve. There had been nights where he had heard her screaming, nights of broken cries.

Nights where there was only a numb and hollow sobbing.

He knew. It was he who answered when the terror and the grief held her fast. It was he, in the guise of her Angel of Music, who comforted her. A masquerade, but one he performed without resentment, if it calmed her. If it eased the pain in her tear-bright eyes.

It was he who comforted her in the music lessons, when she would suddenly cease to sing and the tears would run slow and gleaming down her skin as she looked into nothingness. It was he who tried to give her peace when her soul was in turmoil.

He who soothed the young woman who had had her world warped and twisted like a shattered mirror.

Christine smiled at him as she leaned against the door to his music room. "I thought I'd find you here." Her voice glowed with the faint blush of sunrise.

He looked up. "Your acuity leaves me in awe, as ever." he replied dryly.

Her lips curved in a smile, chestnut eyes gleaming warmly. "Would I be interrupting if I asked for a music lesson?" She worked a hand through her hair, letting it tumble free. The sudden cascade caught the light like a reflection of flames caught in copper.

He shook his head. "Of course not, Christine. Come in."

_Of course not._

**Christine**

She felt as though a great weight had slipped from her when the door closed between her and Raoul. A tenseness she had not even noticed was there relaxed as she made her way toward the back of the apartment. A weariness that lifted as his footsteps faded away.

Christine listened carefully, brows knit. She was sure she had heard the sound of a piano, pausing as she said goodbye to Raoul.

She heard it resume as she slid out of her sandals. Christine smiled and made her way down the hall.

Christine paused on the threshold of his sanctuary. There was a note of unease in the way his hands ran over the keys. A quickening, a restlessness.

Christine smiled at the figure intent so intent on the music. "I thought I'd find you here."

He paused, looked over at her. One eyebrow rose eloquently. "Your acuity leaves me in awe, as ever." His voice was dry, but the hint of a smile hovered about his mouth. The eyes the color of a summer sky were welcoming.

She felt her lips form into a smile. "Would I be interrupting if I asked for a music lesson?" she asked. She smoothed a hand over her hair, working the hairtie out of it. She let it tumble free, relaxing.

Erik shook his head, smiling slightly, voice warm. "Of course not, Christine." His hand moved in a gesture of invitation. "Come in."

Christine returned the smile as she complied. She felt the nameless potency of the room brush against her once more as she stepped over the threshold, caressing and warming her. There was an elusive sense of mysticism, a sanctity to this room. It eased her, murmuring a soothing reassurance to her as though she stood under a vaulted chapel.

It was only when she stood beside the piano that she noticed a new addition amongst the papers.

A photograph. Her brows knit. A pale-haired woman with brilliantly verdant eyes. A man with dark hair and eyes like summer. An embrace, eyes intent on each other. A laughing look she cast him, that he returned with a smile of such warmth it made Christine ache hollowly. His hands rested lightly on her waist, hers on his as she smiled up at him. Christine felt a longing at the joy in their eyes, the radiance of their smiles. An emptiness in her, a sharp pang. As though she looked upon something from across a wide void, a barren plain.

Then she looked at the man sitting at the piano, who looked up at her with suddenly guarded eyes, a stark and almost painful contrast to the figure in the photograph. Christine felt her heart moved, compassion stir as she wondered what had brought him to the wary aloofness that kept all else at a safe distance. That had raised the walls that she had seen beyond so rarely and so fleetingly.

The question was out in the air before she could stop it.

"Who was she?"

It hovered, breathless, in the suddenly still air and seemed to tremble there for a moment. He seemed momentarily frozen, a veil coming over his eyes like ice encasing a waterfall. Face suddenly statuesque.

Then he reached out and gently laid the photograph facedown. There was a stillness in his eyes, as though she hovered on the edge of a tempest. His eyes were downcast, the definition of his features suddenly heightened under the tautness of his face. He inhaled softly, let it out slowly in what was almost a sigh, but did not answer her. She felt an undercurrent of tension move through the air, a twisting, twining tangle that pulled her every way. There was an anger and resentment as he brushed a hand over the keys, a keen note of rejection in it.

And behind it, so tenuous and yet so raw, a pain.

She reached out to him. "Erik- are you all right?"

He looked up at her levelly. "Scales, Christine." His voice had cooled, from the fire-warmed velvet of moments ago to chilled silk. Her hand slid back in the face of that distanced gaze. There was a darkness about him now. He seemed suddenly remote, locked within himself, but for the anger she sensed, like fire under smoke. It would burst into a blaze if she continued to question him, she knew. She could sense the dangerous flare of it, like a line of flame in smoldering wood, a flame that could turn into a wildfire. She could not question him further without provoking that veiled anger.

So she did the only thing she could to ease the emotions that tangled through the room.

She sang.

**Erik**

How could she ask him that?

He felt a wave of coldness sweep him at the question.

Christine extended a tentative hand, touched his shoulder gently. "Erik- are you all right?" Her voice was worried, hesitant.

It was as though ice crept over him, freezing and numbing what lay in its wake, but for the smoldering fires of pain and resentment.

He forced away the darkness slipping over him. "Scales, Christine." His voice was perfectly controlled, unemotional. For which he was grateful.

He felt her eyes upon him, did not look. What might he see, if he did? Pity? The pity of the girl _he_ had comforted in the night? Who called for _him _in her nightmares? Who he had given peace, as much as he was able?

Pity. A chill seeped through him, a cold and shadowed numbness as he brought up his carefully constructed walls. As though he wanted that.

_As though she would give you anything else, Erik._

**Christine**

The frozen walls around him chilled her. It was as though he had encased himself in ice, isolated himself from light or warmth. _Why is he closing everything off like this? _

What had happened, that he hid from? Who was that woman in the photograph? What had passed between them, to bring him to this?

One thing was clear. Erik Destler had never had an Angel to comfort him as she had. There was no peace about him now, only a mute suffering endured because there was no other choice. Only a desperate clinging to the past because there was no future.

Hadn't he told her to mourn? What was stopping him? Had he no one to hold him as he had held her as she cried?

_Erik- have you never allowed yourself to be comforted?Have you never prayed for an Angel to come?_

She felt a sudden wave of compassion, an empathy of moving through her like waves upon the shore. A soul-stirring compassion for the pain that she saw through his eyes as though through clouded glass. She saw with piercing clarity, that the man who had comforted her had a darkness of his own, one that dimmed the bright eyes and shadowed the music he wove around him. A darkness that she could not penetrate.

But perhaps she could lift it- if only barely and briefly?

_  
"Stars were falling deep in the darkness _

_as prayers rose softly, petals at dawn._

_And as I listened, your voice sounded so clear._

_ So calmly you were calling your god."_

She tried to recall the essence of her Angel, the healing she had found when he answered her cries. The warmth and the beauty, a divine effervescence, that moved through her spirit as her prayers were answered. A promise of comfort, a protection and a healing offered. An glowing aura that shielded her and chased back the shadows in the night, encircling her with light. Could she give that to him- the comfort she had received from her Angel of Music?

_Have you never prayed for an Angel, Erik? _

_Have you never known that comfort?_

Her voice rose in wordless melody as she poured her spirit through it, as a river baptizes the earth. As the oceans cradled the shore, so her voice moved. She sang, allowing the music to transcend the boundaries that mere words fell before. She extended a nebulous hand through her song, an offering of comfort. If only he would let the walls fall and crumble away as she had. Did he not know the healing of that? The breaking of those walls like a flood of sunlight let into a prison?

Or did he not believe in allowing himself to heal? Was this what he feared- moving forward, toward uncertainty? Releasing the pain that he seemed to have known for so long, so familiar and comprehensible? That had extended like splinters of ice into him, so much a part of him now that he feared to remove it?

_"Somewhere the sun rose o'er dunes in the desert._

_Such was the stillness, I n'er felt before. _

_Was this the question, pulling, pulling, pulling you?_

_ In your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?"_

_What dark things do you torture yourself with? Why do you feed the pain with your memories?_

_ I know that pain, Erik. What I see behind your eyes, I've known. Why do you cling to it, as I did? Has there been no one to teach you how to let it go?_

_ Why haven't you done for yourself what you've done for me? Why do you hold on to your loss?_

She watched as the ice began to recede from his eyes, flowing away, forced back with the shadows. Watched the tense lines of his body ease, and felt relief seep through her as the distant paralysis faded. Her song ascended as she allowed the sensations inside to spill. All her empathy, her compassion, all her gratitude for the healing and acceptance he had shown her, she let into her voice, and offered back to him.

If only he would listen to it.

_"Elsewhere a snowfall, the first in the winter _

_covered the ground as the bells filled the air. _

_You in you robes sang, calling, calling, calling him ._

_ In you heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?"_

_Have you never had an Angel to give you peace, Erik? What kind of loss have you known, that you can't let it go? That you let it fester and spread? _

Christine closed her eyes, recalling his hands on her shoulders as she sang to Heaven that day. Recalled the arms around her when she broke the walls of the mausoleum she had encased herself in. The warmth, the comfort of them, the voice so soft and soothing, the eyes so brilliant with understanding. Now, she thought she knew the reason for the depth of that understanding.

_Let me help you find peace._

Recalled the life she felt begin to flow again, as though her tears had broken a winter inside of her like the first spring rain. The first rain to wash away the cold snow to reveal a cleansed earth. The rain that exposed the chilled earth and the growth housed within to sunlight once more.

_ Let me give you peace, Erik._

_"In your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?"_

Christine reached out to the man at the piano with her voice. She couldn't hold him as he had held her, she couldn't tear down the walls of pride and restraint around him as he had for her. But she could give him this. Even if she could never hold him as he had held her, she could give him this.

_Find peace in what I sing to you, Erik. Don't hide from yourself like this._

She watched the ice and the shadows fade, reaching out to him with light and warmth. _Don't hide from me._

Her earlier wondering came back to her. _Have you never had an Angel?_

_ We all need an Angel sometimes, Erik._

The same insistent urging she had felt that night when she had first heard him sing rose anew, stirring like flames coaxed from glowing embers. A potent, pressing sensation that came from every way, settled within her core to whisper encouragement to her. A breathless murmur that moved her forward. She reached out, touched his shoulder. _Let me help you, Erik._

_Let me be your Angel._

**Erik**

He felt the ice broken, the shadows faded. The ephemeral voice still scintillated through him. It was like a light bringing him back to harbor, the proverbial candle burning in the window to guide home the traveler in the night.

Her voice evanesced and for a moment, there was only the breathless silence. A silence that wove around them, some meaning to it just beyond their ken.

He felt slender fingers upon his shoulder. He looked up at her. "Well done, Christine." he said softly.

Her eyes stayed on his, a steady mahogany luminescence. "Thank you."

It was not pity that he saw there.

It was compassion.


	14. Ausculto

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. Thank you for all of the very encouraging reviews!**

** Note I- Ausculto translates to "I listen"**

**Note II- I do not know when I'll be able to update again, but I will when I'm able.  
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**Lee**

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**Ausculto**

**Christine**

She found a strange determination in her now, when she sang. It was no longer only for her own sake- or even for that of her parents.

It was for him she now strove to excel. Strove to see the sky-colored eyes warm as though they were lit by sunlight, to hear the relaxed warmth of the melodic voice. Strove to break the darkness note by note, word by word, with the most tenuous rays of light and hope.

She sang to watch the faint smile he would sometimes turn on her. She sang to see the distance lessened, the coldness faded, the pain alleviated. Two weeks of healing, she had given him thus far, two weeks like the fading of winter, as the ice receded from the rivers, pale, frosted blue shadows melting away into the true depth and vibrancy of the earth's rebirth. As though she watched rime slipping away, becoming translucent before fading into mist. As though she watched the first touch of sun upon a garden, bright and clear.

She trembled, sometimes, afterward, with the force of emotion that moved through her. That left her still, spirit and body alike aglow with the remnants of her song. The depth of it shook her, a wild majesty that she found sometimes she was merely a vessel for. She found it choking her sometimes, flooding and consuming her, rocking her as a great wave, an impact like the bright flare of sunlight upon eyes that had lived for years in darkness.

Christine did not dwell as much on her own pain now. He was there to hold her when she cried, this was her chance to repay that. Every time he held her, every word of comfort, was a gift to return; to offer to him as he had to her. To show him just how much that had meant for her, how grateful she was for it. How much she cared.

Her chance to give him the same compassion he had given her and teach him the joy of the journey of healing. The sudden release of grief, like a great flood running down, leaving exposed the suspended emotions, the seeds of life. Giving breath and light to hopes and dreams. How the tender, tenuous strains of emotion would begin to stir, the soul to rise again.

How one began to hear the breath of life again as it moved through them. A singing joy that thrilled through the body and left a brilliant light in its wake, so that the soul blazed like a beacon.

Christine smiled as she lay on her bed, basking in the sunlight. Her book lay open, unread before her. Outside, it was scorching, burning. Heat haze rose from the pavement, shimmering in the humid air. In here, sheltered by clear glass, it was perfect on her skin. Here she could look out and contemplate the world while the sun touched her, a relaxing warmth, like balm soaking through her pores. She hummed absently as she gazed out at the park. _I wonder if he's ever lain like this, looked out at the world and wondered at what lay beyond, just out of sight._ She reflected on the idea, the blue eyes gazing curiously, probing at the fabric of the world, seeing deeply into the world, so deep. A yearning in them, to venture beyond the illusion of the horizon._ I wonder if he's ever simply lain this still, so still, and listened to the sound of sunlight singing against the skin?_

_ I wonder..._

The sharp shrilling of a phone jarred her sharply from her thoughts. Christine slid reluctantly off of her bed and made her way down the hall to the kitchen. She plucked the phone from its cradle, cutting it off in mid-jangle.

"Hello?"

**Erik**

He traced over the music. _Don Juan Triumphante_. It was to be his magnum opus, the outpouring of the world as it moved through him. Every sensation that touched him in the night was laid into the score, the music that brushed his spirit under the illumination of white candles.

_"Will I ever see it?"_

Wistful, questioning eyes upon him. Glowing in the light, wondering and infused with the aura of music. The mysticism of his music room flowing through her, drawing out her voice. Lifting her song to the heavens, freeing the entombed girl within.

_ "Perhaps someday."_

Why was it that he heard her voice when Aminta sang? That clear, seraphic voice soaring through the notes of his opera?

_Why do I...?_

A sharp ringing brought him back from his musings. He left the piano, going through the door and down the hall. The incessant jangle moved through the air in fractured bursts, hardly conducive to composing.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ceased. He heard Christine's voice as he paused on the threshold of the kitchen. She stared out the window as she talked, uncertainty and worry moving across her face like clouds over the sky. The sun illuminated her face with a flaming touch. Her voice was overlaid with false brightness, almost cheerful enough to be convincing.

Almost.

"I'm fine, Raoul, you?" A pause, her brows contracting. "Now? Raoul, do you realize how hot it is outside?" She sighed, half-smiled at whatever he replied. "Well, if you say it's important... all right. I'll meet you there in ten." A shadow flitted over her face. "You too. Bye." She laid the phone back in it's cradle, looked over at him. "Oh. I didn't see you there." She ran a hand through her hair, seemingly uneasy.

"Going out?" he asked casually, hoping to drain the tension from her. Her arms were crossed over her chest in an awkward gesture. _Why does she keep meeting with him when he makes her feel so ill at ease?_ he wondered. Was her kindness, her compassion so much stronger that she put another's needs before her own? Her tolerance was a source of amazement to him.

She shrugged. "More or less." She shifted, seeming reluctant to move. Her eyes flickered along the floor, following a sunbeam.

He eyed her fair skin. "You'll burn if you don't put on sunscreen."

She smiled wryly, some of the unease draining. "Oh, I'll use sunscreen, don't worry. I remember the last time I didn't listen to that advice..." she laughed ruefully, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The glassy look faded from her eyes, a warm sparkle taking its place.

He felt the warmth of it suffuse the room. "The last time?"

Christine's laugh was wistful. "One time when I was ten, I wouldn't listen when my father told me that same thing." She grimaced. "As I recall, my skin was an interesting shade of red for the next week." There was a fond note of nostalgia in her voice. "I should have listened to him more."

Erik shook his head and smiled. "I hope you'll remember his advice now."

She raised her eyes to his, smiled as she moved past him. "I will."

He watched her go.

**Raoul**

Three weeks. Three careful weeks of treading lightly, moving ever closer. It was like coaxing a deer to come, by soft cajoling, patient stillness.

Three weeks of sunlit meetings, where he sought to gain a quiet laugh from her, a small smile light her moon-pale face. To see the warmth in her farseeing eyes, to bask in that strangely familiar aura of comfort.

Three weeks of learning about her, each other. Sunlit hours whiled away with harmless pastimes. Platonic, with only the hints of overtures on his part.

There had been something new between them. An anticipation, almost a tension. An expectation, in the way she would look off questioningly into the distance, her eyes moving briefly over his before seeking the sky. The slight catch in her voice, a barest hesitation.

Maybe it was time.

Maybe now she was ready to hear what he wanted to say to her.

He looked up at the skitter of gravel under her shoes. Her hair was pulled up, off of her neck, escaping in small curling tendrils. She touched it awkwardly. Christine offered a tentative smile, there was an uncertainty in her eyes. As though she did not know quite what to say or do.

He sympathized with the sensation.

Raoul smiled, trying to relax her. "Hey, Chris." He patted the bench beside him. She lowered herself cautiously. Her eyes were serious on his.

She relaxed a little as she settled against the bench. "Hey. What did you need to talk about?"

"Chris," he began calmly, keeping his voice level. "How long would you say we've been meeting now?" A note of intimacy escaped him, entered his voice.

Her brows contracted. "Around three weeks, but why are you-?"

She broke off as he took her hands in his. A spark of comprehension entered her eyes. And- oddly- a nervous light.

Or maybe it wasn't so odd. Christine seemed nervous by nature, from what he had learned in his time with her. He ran his fingers over the back of her hands comfortingly, the fair surface like sliding his hand over water.

Raoul kept his eyes steady on hers. "I've been meaning to ask you for some time. I'd like to be more than just friends with you. I care for you very much, Chris, and I'd like for us to go further." He felt a tender smile play across his lips. "I think I love you already, a little." He paused as her eyes looked beyond him, as though she stared at a far horizon. She was still, eerily still.

She seemed frozen. His smile faded, replaced by concern. "Chris, are you feeling all right?" Her eyes were glassy, her skin paled and beading in the sunlight. He touched an errant strand that curled against her cheek, damp with humidity. "Chris?"

She blinked, then seemed to come back to herself, looking at him again. "I have to go." She rose abruptly. Her eyes were wide and dilated, the sun striking the mahogany depths with an amber, almost fey light. He saw the muscles of her slender throat work, heard her breath quicken. His heart skipped.

_Oh, no._

"Chris-!" he started as she slid back, shaking, stood and backed away. The words poured from her like water from a broken fountain, sporadic. "I have to go, Raoul- I'll call you if- I'll-" She broke off and, turning, began to run.

He started after her, called her name, then stopped. If he did this, listened to the need to follow her and explain, it would only frighten her further. He hit the bench open-palmed, feeling suddenly helpless.

_Why is she so afraid of staring something?_

**Christine**

She approached him apprehensively, finding it hard to think through the heavy summer heat. She felt something moving through the languid summer air, something with the scent of change. Her veins hummed.

He looked up at her, smiled. "Hey, Chris." She sat down at his easygoing invitation, forced some of the tension out of her body. "Hey. What did you need to talk about?" Christine kept her voice nonchalant, belying the nervous whispers in her spirit.

His voice was quiet, a hesitation behind it. "Chris, how long would you say we've been meeting now?"

There was an expectancy in his eyes, he leaned toward her slightly. Her nerves rippled, an uncomfortable fluttering beneath her skin. "Around three weeks, but why are you-?"

The words were torn from her when he took her hands in his, holding them gently, almost... tenderly. In some part of her, a comprehension sprung forth- and with it, a fear. She felt trepidation enter her eyes as his fingers slipped over the back of her hands in repetitive motion. It would have been therapeutic, had it not been him. _Let this be something else, don't let him say what I think he will-_

His eyes did not flicker on his, holding them levelly. "I've been meaning to ask you for some time.-"

_ -Oh, God.-_

"- I'd like to be more than just friends with you. I care for you very much, Chris, and I'd like for us to go further." She saw a smile, sweet and soothing, touch his eyes and curve his mouth.

She felt herself plummeting. _No. No, no, not this..._

"I think I love you already, a little."

_ Not this..._

She went cold at those words, spoken so warmly. Something in her disconnected at the words, fleeing the reality of the moment, sweeping her up toward a place she could deny those words.

"Chris, are you feeling all right?" She felt, as from a great distance, him brush away a curl from her cheek.

She blinked and came back to herself. He was frowning slightly, all attentive care and concern. His hazel eyes held a shimmer that spurred a surge of hysteria. She wanted to reject those words, those hazel eyes, to deny the existence of his confession. Christine wanted to repudiate the words he had spoken- it was not right for her to be here, for him to speak them. It was not right for either of them. Bile rose in her throat. _This is wrong._

"Chris?" He seemed genuinely anxious.

"I have to go." she managed. Tugging herself away, she rose. There was a pounding resounding through her now, a hot humming in her veins. A fear budding. Her breath felt suddenly harsh, burning throat and lungs. _This is wrong._

This was wrong.

"Chris-!" he exclaimed as she retreated from him.

"I have to go, Raoul-" she stammered. "I'll call you if- I'll-" Christine stopped. _Run._ whispered the voice inside, settled near the depths of her soul.

She listened, the summer sun scorching her skin, hot air searing her. Her eyes stung with salty sweat, burning against her skin as she ran, the wind ripping past her.

Christine heard him call her. If he was pursuing her, she couldn't tell. There was nothing but the red pounding of the sun, heat pressing in all around her, her brain a torrent of confused thoughts like flames swirling mindlessly.

She did not look back.

**Erik**

He heard the door slam open from where he sat in the living room, musing over the score before him. _What the hell? _He walked out into the hall, score in hand, wondering what had brought such force to the simple opening of a door.

He was met with a jarring impact as Christine literally ran into him. He looked down at her in surprise, her body shook against his, her hair was in disarray, sweat slicked her skin.

The music fell to the floor. "Christine," he asked gently, voice calm, the antithesis of how he felt, "what happened?" Concern extended tentative veins through him, tension reverbrated through her.

She stood numbly against him, body shaking. _What on earth?_ The worry spread, a faint alarm ringing in the back of his mind. He tilted her chin up. "What happened, Christine?"

He blinked at the change from the girl of this morning. Her eyeliner twisted down her face in dark veins, her eyes were wide and swirling with nameless things. She looked as though she were about to be physically sick. He felt those mahogany eyes drawing him in and downward, a maelstrom, looked steadily. "Christine?"

Her lips quivered.

Erik tried for a more direct approach. "What did Mr. DeChagney say to you?"

The dam of silence broke in a torrent, a deluge of words surging past him in horrified shock, indeterminate, tumbling over one another. He put his arms around the shaken girl, alarmed at the emotions roiling in her eyes, through her body, that hissed in the air around her. "It's all right, Christine. Calm yourself." His voice dropped.

"It's all right, Christine."

She halted. He rubbed her back, soothing. Her tremors lessened, but were not gone. She looked up at him with a semblance of sense in her eyes. "Now." he kept his eyes on hers, trying to draw her away from the raw emotion she was drowning herself in, back to lucidity. "Tell me what happened."

Her eyes did not fall from his. He managed to gather that the boy had sprung a romantic declaration on her. Erik felt his hands tighten involuntarily. _The idiot. Of all the insensitive..._

"He told me that he loved me-" The veneer of her calm began to fade, her voice raised and twisted with anger, guilt. Her eyes burned feverishly, skin pale and gleaming with sweat as she began to shake anew. "I never asked him to love me- why does he love me?" Her voice broke, but the words continued, ripped from her as wind denuding a tree in autumn, in a cascade of swirling leaves. "I never asked for this, Erik! It's not fair to him, why should he love me when I can't love him back?" she cried. Her breath was harsh, wracking her. Her body shook against his. He felt adrenaline speeding under her skin, a rush of torment and anger. She was taut with the emotions running rampant through her. "Is there something wrong with me, that I can't love him?" She sounded almost sickened with herself. "Is there something the matter with me?"

She looked up imploringly at him, eyes desperate, magnetizing in their anguish. Shining with the tears that flooded and spilled over her skin. "Why is this happening- why, Erik... why!" Her eyes held his a moment longer, the light on them trembling, before she dropped her eyes to the floor in something like shame. Tear tracks gleamed brightly on her skin as she fell silent.

He held her closer, hands moving calmingly over her back. Slow, steady motion. He felt her relax against him, the frenzy driven out of her, replaced by a numb weariness. Her head sank listlessly to his chest. "Christine, you can't choose who you love or don't love." He heard his voice become distant with memories. "It's not a choice to love someone."

Star-filled green eyes filled his mind. A pealing laugh, the scent of jasmine seemed to drift past him. "You can never choose who you love." he whispered, to himself or her, he didn't know.

She looked up at him again. Her eyes had stilled, the raging whirlpool subdued.

He was struck, suddenly, by the sight. In that moment, she was not Nadir's goddaughter. She was not the teenager who had stood on the doorstep that first day.

She was Christine.

He realized that there was a questioning look in her eyes, smiled reassuringly. The mahogany eyes looked at him a moment longer before falling as she lowered her head against him again. "How can you be so sure?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.

He lifted her face up. "Christine, I promise you, this does not make you evil."

Her eyes were sickened, a fear emergent. "What if I can't love anyone? What if-"

He broke in gently. "Even if you don't love him, Christine, that does not mean that you are incapable of love. You are-" he paused, sifting through his words carefully. "You are very- compassionate, Christine. I do not think you could ever succumb to that inhumanity."

His words seemed to ease her, her heart no longer beat so wildly against his skin. "Thank you." Her voice was low, tentative. There was a question behind it, and in the mahogany eyes.

Erik wiped away the dark rivulets on her face._ Christine. What has this been doing to you?_ She closed her eyes against the touch, mouth twitching slightly. She was ashen, trembling. Her breathing sounded dry. He frowned. "Did you run all the way here?"

She offered a tremulous smile that shook only slightly. "More or less." Her eyes flickered.

He steered her to the kitchen, sat her down. Pouring her a glass of water, he put it in her hands "Drink."

She put it to her lips obediently. Her eyes searched his over the rim of the glass.

Erik brushed back the tangled hair, damp and curling, from her face, rested his hand against her forehead. She was warm, but not feverishly so. "How do you feel?"

She blinked, sagged slightly as she began to register her body. "A little dizzy. Nauseous." Christine rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Tired."

"Why don't you go clean yourself up and rest?" he suggested gently.

She dropped her head to her arms. "I suppose I look about how I feel, then."

"You look like a woman who has had a very trying day and deserves some peace." he replied as she rested her head on one side to look at him. Her eyes had softened, weary, but calmed.

Christine smiled faintly. "I think I'll go do that, then." She stood, fatigue in her movements.

She surprised him, wrapping her arms around him in a brief, tight embrace. "Erik- Thank you." she whispered against his shirt.

He found that he was returning the gesture. "You're welcome, Christine."

**Christine**

The door swept open before her, she continued blindly running before she hit something with a force that knocked the breath out of her. She stumbled back, would have fallen if he had not reached out and held her. She heard, dimly, the rustle of paper falling.

She closed her eyes, a twisting at her core, as his voice flowed, calming, soothing, over her. "Christine, what happened?"

He placed light fingers under her chin, raised her eyes to his. "What happened, Christine?" His voice had a note of urgency in it now. The sky colored eyes were alight, intent on hers. The twisting in her was interrupted by a sharp jolt through her middle, an electric shock. His eyes were so strangely vivid...

"Christine?" he prompted her gently. She felt her mouth tremble, words falling just short of passing her lips.

His eyes sharpened slightly, a bright clarity. "What did Mr. DeChagney say to you?"

The name was too much. She found the words pouring out of her, almost unintelligible in their rapidity. Dark things pounded through her, beating against her skin with punishing wings. Her mind chased itself in circles. She felt bile rise in her throat, her insides twisting...

The feel of his arms around her halted the hysteric storm of words, buffering the frenzy inside. "It's all right, Christine. Calm yourself." His voice softened, suffusing her with some relaxing balm, like the touch of the sunlight of that morning. "It's all right, Christine." he reassured her.

She felt some of her shaking slacken. His hands moved over her back in calm litany, like the ebb and flow of the ocean against the shore. "Now." His eyes were searching hers. "Tell me what happened."

She looked up at him as steadily as she was able, giving a brief anecdote of the meeting. Her words trembled in the air, she found she could not describe it in any great detail without a rise of the same sickening emotions.

"He told me that he loved me." she whispered, fighting the creeping sensation, like revulsion, in her veins. A shadowed flutter over her skin. "I never asked him to love me- why does he love me?" she burst out. The words tumbled more quickly now, laced with anger and darker things, things she feared to touch. "I never asked for this, Erik! It's not fair to him, why should he love me when I can't love him back?" An empty gap opened in her stomach, a void torn by the harsh injustice of it all. Her lungs burned, eyes stinging. She felt herself shaking. A tempest brewed inside of her, emotions searing and ripping at her. "Is there something wrong with me, that I can't love him?" _What kind of inhuman thing am I?_

Christine looked up at him as though he could answer that thought. "Why is this happening- why, Erik... why?"

Why was her world so wrong?

She felt tears starting, blurring and distorting her vision as she looked down from the bright eyes, so searching on hers. She felt them slide down her skin, stinging.

He did not answer her. His arms tightened, holding her closer to him. His hands moved over her back in soothing litany. She felt the wildness draining out of her, a dull apathy taking its place. His heart beat against her temple as she dropped her head to his chest.

"Christine," his voice came from over her, washing down upon her like rain, "you can't choose who you love or don't love."

His voice softened with remembrance, faded. "It's not a choice to love someone." His breathing filled the silence before he spoke again, so quietly it almost eluded her. "You can never choose who you love."

She lifted her head, eyes going back to his. There was a deep stillness in her now, the roiling waves subsiding into small ripples. The sky colored eyes held hers for a long moment, searching, a faint surprise in them. The side of his face not covered by the mask had an attentive look to it, as though he were trying to listen to something hovering on the horizon. The moment swelled around them, something intangible just out of reach. Her breath shuddered.

Her head dropped to his chest again, an entirely different anxiety thrumming through her. "How can you be so sure?"

His fingers skimmed under her jaw, raised her face so that she looked into the summer blue eyes. "Christine, I promise you, this does not make you evil."

The soft intensity in his voice almost convinced her.

Then the doubt surfaced again, the horror inside to breathe shallowly. "What if I can't love anyone? What if-"

"Even if you don't love him, Christine," he stopped her words, his own reassuring, "that does not mean that you are incapable of love. You are-" he hesitated, seemingly at a loss. "You are very- compassionate, Christine." His voice quieted. "I do not think you could ever succumb to that inhumanity."

She let the words soak through her like sunlight, a soothing warmth spreading in their wake. "Thank you." She looked up at him, not realizing the question in her eyes.

_What does he think of me?_

His eyes dropped from hers, passing over her face. A slight frown crossed his face, he reached out. She closed her eyes as he wiped away the tears, fingers sliding smoothly over her skin. Her breath trembled, passing her lips. Her throat felt suddenly dry, her body shook.

She opened her eyes at the sudden question. "Did you run all the way here?" Concern settled over his features.

Christine tried a weak smile. "More or less." She suppressed the flutter that rippled through her body.

He kept his arm around her as he guided her to the kitchen. She found a glass of water in her hands once she had sat down. "Drink." Erik said firmly, eyes brooking no argument. He stood over her as she did, her eyes on his. He swept the unkempt hair from her forehead, resting his hand lightly against her skin. The coolness eased the hot pounding in her head. "How do you feel?" His voice was quiet, a note of care overlaying it.

"A little dizzy. Nauseous." she replied, massaging her closed eyes. A clouded fog, filled her. "Tired."

His voice was gentle. "Why don't you go clean yourself up and rest?"

Christine laid her head on her arms. Her body felt strangely, suddenly heavy. An aching dullness settling throughout her body. "I suppose I look about how I feel, then." She looked up at him, not lifting her head. He half-smiled, the left side of his face softening.

"You look like a woman who has had a very trying day and deserves some peace." he answered her quietly. His eyes were warmed, the complexities that had continually puzzled her moving in them like ripples through water.

"I think I'll go do that, then." she replied with a half-smile. Christine stood up, weariness seeping through her.

He started as she embraced him. She suppressed the urge to do the same, surprised by her impetuous gesture. Her arms tightened involuntarily. "Erik-" She did not look up at him. "Thank you."

She felt his arms come around her. "You're welcome, Christine."

She felt the aura of safety, glowing in the way the sun did, as it hit their skin as they stood in silence. A sense of serenity flowed through her, she heard the gentle movement of the tides in the beating of his heart under her ear. Tranquility filled her, her spirit basking in a soft light.

The darkness was gone.

* * *

**Again, I don't know the next time I will be able to update- I'm going away over spring break. I hope this can hold you till then. Thanks for your patience!**

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	15. Antinomy

**Disclaimer: I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. Not POTO.**

**Thank you for all of your thoughtful. very much appreciated reviews**

**Lee **

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**Antinomy**

**Erik**

_She looked up at him, her troubled face gilded by moonlight. "What if I can't love anyone? What if-" _

_"Hush." He turned her face to the sea. "Look, Christine." _

_They stood upon silver sand, the beach extending to either side of them on into infinity. The stars were bright, clear in the midnight-blue velvet of the sky. The moon shone with a soft glow, gleaming upon gently rolling waves. The light of it refracted like the shards of a broken mirror scattered in the water, muting the foam frothing at their ankles to a white opalescence. Slivers of pure light glittered in the waves that sighed against the shore. _

_She looked, eyes following his to the edge of the ocean, where sky and sea met, a velvet melding, inseparable but for the bright pinpricks of stars, an endless host like fireflies. "What am I looking at, Erik?" Her voice melded with the drifting sound of the waves._

_ He touched the coppery hair, brightened under the lambent moonlight. Reflections of light from the waters flickered over her upturned face. "What do you want to be looking at, Christine?" _

_She leaned back against him, her body melding against his as she looked out over the sea. "Hope. What is hope made of, Erik? How would you recognize it?" She shivered in the slight breeze, the tang of the ocean stirring the auburn curls, the white samite wrapped around her. He held her closer to him, she reached up behind her, skimmed a hand along his jawline. Her fingers felt like the caress of the ocean, baptizing, cleansing. Her head half-turned so that she looked at him. The mahogany eyes were dark and endless, currents in them like the movements of the tides at their ankles.  
_

_He smiled slightly. "In the same way you would recognize an angel." _

_Her eyes searched his. "I thought you didn't believe in angels." Her slim fingers traveled up his cheek. 'I always thought that was sad. You didn't seem to have hope."_

_ "Didn't I?" Her fingers seemed to leave a trail of glowing light, much like the arching band of stars above them. His eyes closed briefly under that touch._

_ "No. You didn't." Her voice was soft, a clear whisper that seemed to come from within his own mind. "Why is that, Erik?" _

_Her fingers trailed up his face. "Would you tell me why?" _

_"I-" The slim, tender fingers distracted him as they traced over his skin. He laid his hand over hers, struggling for clarity. The warm night pulled at him with soft murmurs, the ocean sighing some voiceless message.  
_

_His fingertips touched masked side of his face. But it was not masked. And he held her hand against it. Her flawless white skin against his ravaged flesh._

What!

_He started back, her eyes flew up to his, confusion in the star-brightened depths, as his hand slipped from hers. "Erik?" She drifted toward him. "Is there something wrong?" She reached out to him, eyes anxious. "Erik?" _

_He halted. Her fingers interlaced with his, she looked up questioningly at him. "What's wrong?" _

He woke sharply, his breathing renting the silence. He realized he had fallen asleep on the divan, the composition he had been working on scattered on the floor. Erik raised a tentative hand to his mask, reassuring himself that it was still there.

_What the hell was that? _The details of his dream came rushing back to him, a tumultuous assault, a barrage of images and words. Christine, the ocean at their feet, the stars above their heads. Talking in riddles, of hope and angels.

Touching like...

_What's wrong with you, Erik?_ he asked himself fiercely. _What was that? _Some subconscious wish on his part that someone would see beyond what lay behind the mask? Fine, that was understandable. But why her? And why had her touch been so tender, almost... loving in his dream?

_ This is Christine._ Christine._ What are you thinking, Erik? That because she has compassion for you, that because she accepts you, she could feel anything more? Even if she did, she isn't even eighteen yet!_

Yet. Less than a week separated her from her birthday.

_She's Nadir's goddaughter._

Some part of him had ceased to care.

He buried his head in his hands. One hand touched living flesh, the other the cold planes of a mask. _What's wrong with you? This is idiocy, Erik, and you're a fool to dwell on it. People like her aren't meant for things like you. What the hell are you thinking?_

_ What would she think of you if she knew?_

Her farseeing eyes looked into his out of the darkness, autumnal, questioning. _What would you see in those endless eyes? _

He was torn from his thoughts by a faint sound. As his rampant thoughts slowed, the strange currents of the night twined around him, sighing, mourning. Something called to him. Someone.

_Christine._

She had indeed been crying, as he saw when he found himself standing over her. The same luminous sheen of the moonlit sea was on her skin, broken and brightened where tear tracks stood out on her skin. He wondered just what he was doing there when he saw her hand clench tightly upon the pillowcase, a muffled sound in the back of her throat. There was a bright glittering on her lashes.

A wave of melancholy swept him, touched with compassion. He knew it was dangerous now, to think this way, to allow himself to feel for her.

He found, as she stirred restlessly, her features reflecting the lost and wandering spirit within, that he didn't much care. He seated himself at the edge of her bed, stroked the tangled curls back from her troubled face. No matter what he felt for her, she needed her Angel. Would he deny her that, in the vain hopes of something else? Something utterly unattainable, completely beyond his reach or merit?

Erik let the strange depth and beauty of her Angel enter his voice. "Sleep, Christine. You're safe." His hand paused on the fiery tresses, a protectiveness that he half-remembered infusing him at the touch. It recalled the day he had turned her face to the heavens and told her to sing to them. It recalled the light of dawn on her, her song moving through them as it rose to Heaven. It recalled the warmth of her tears as he held her, the eyes so lost on his...

"Dream of hope, Christine."

_ What am I doing?_ he wondered, torn between the logic that told him to go and the compassion that compelled him to stay. _What am I allowing myself to do? I shouldn't care for her like this, I shouldn't care for her like this._

_ Don't you remember what happened the last time you let yourself feel this way, Erik?_ inquired a voice from the back of his mind, as he rested a hand on the damp tendrils that curled like ruddy ivy.

He found, as she sighed and settled, the touch of a contented smile on her lips, that it didn't much matter.

**Christine**

A half-familiar voice broke the shadows consuming her. A voice that interrupted the requiem resounding through her, turning it from a song of death and mourning to a soothing heartbeat. Her half-conscious mind stirred, spirit drawn to the sound.

"Sleep, Christine." There was an elusive, ephemeral something that seraphic voice, evading her just before her half-dreaming mind could grasp it. "You're safe." She felt a pressure upon her hair, a tranquility flowing through her like sunlight through glass, warmth and brightness flooding her. Efflorescing like petals unfurling from their heart under the touch of the morning sun; her Angel's presence a calyx, shielding her.

"Dream of hope, Christine."

It was odd, she thought vaguely, as she felt herself sinking into peaceful oblivion, that there was something in her Angel's voice that had been almost familiar.

_Almost... _

Christine was asleep before she could complete the thought.

**Raoul**

He looked broodingly at the photos over the mantel. Dark eyes smiled at him, ruddy hair drifting across them. Her ivory skin was flushed with laughter. Christine's features seemed to waver in hers, as a reflection danced in wind-stirred water, disrupting the mirror of the soul.

If only it were so easy to make _her _smile. If only it were so easy to make her dark eyes light with elation. If only it were so easy to be with her.

_ I came so close- what happened?_

There was no answer from the smiling photograph.

_ I need to talk to her. I need to figure out just what she's so afraid of. Why... _

_ Why this..._

**Christine**

The coolness of the morning was tinged with moisture, the promise of rain, as Christine jogged through the park. The sun had not yet fully dispersed the mist hovering in wispy, billowing seas.

Her heart settled into a familiar rhythm, as it did every morning, as she jogged, a dull, constant background to her thoughts.

Her Angel had been with her again last night. There had been something, a half-understood remembrance, as though there was a semblance between her Angel and something or someone else... someone she couldn't quite put a name to. It hovered in her mind, just out of reach. Whenever she tried to snatch at the thought, she found it slipping like water through her fingers and soaking into the ground, irrecoverable.

_Why can't I remember? Why can't I understand?_ Her thoughts eluded her like smoke, evanescing on the air and leaving only a trace of scent behind to show that they had existed at all. A fleeting greyness that faded into intangibility, that parted before her seeking mind as though she tried to touch mist.

_Angel... what is it that I can't remember?_

She heard a voice hailing her; her feet slowed and stopped, she turned unwillingly. Her heart pounded against her lungs, but she could not run this time. He'd let her go yesterday, she didn't think he would give up so easily if she did it again today.

The owner of the voice was who she had expected, if not who she would have chosen. Raoul walked toward her, his manner that of assured calm. She didn't know how genuine it was.

"We need to talk, Chris." his eyes sought hers, held them steadily. "Why did you run off yesterday?"

The blunt question took her off guard. He continued, and she realized he didn't expect her to answer, not yet. "What are you so afraid of, Chris? Why is it that..." he trailed off.

"Raoul- I _can't_ be with you. Not like that. It's just that simple." She was, for some odd reason, acutely aware of the stillness of the air, a breathless anticipation, like the waiting time between the flash of lightening and the roll of thunder.

The hazel eyes were uncomprehending. "Why? Tell me why that is, Chris. If it's really that simple, then explain it to me." His voice had taken on a different tone, slightly frayed around the edges, as though it were a fabric wearing thin. He smiled, and it was forced. "There's not someone else, is there?"

She shook her head. "It's not that-"

"Then what is it?" He raised his eyebrows, voice insistent. Two steps brought him close, uncomfortably close. She could feel the heat of his body, he gripped her shoulders and looked down at her with such an odd, almost demanding intensity, so unlike him, that she felt a nervous fear sliding down her like rain over a window. His fingers pressed uncomfortably. "What are you afraid of?" he asked again. His eyes searched hers and she looked away, slipping from the hands on her shoulders.

"Why do I have to be afraid of something if I don't want to be with you?" she asked defensively. This-_ interrogation_- shook her. It was like wind shivering a leaf from the bough, pulling it this way and that until it broke from its tree. Christine could feel herself breaking away as the leaf did, a snapping sensation, then a spinning disorientation _Why is he doing this?_ She hoped that this would be over soon, that she could excuse herself on some pretext or other. _Why can't he let this rest?_

It was obvious to her that she would have to face this issue in full eventually. But not now. She couldn't face the confusion in his eyes, the note of pleading in his voice at this moment.

He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I sprung it on you like that, Chris. I didn't mean to startle you. But don't you think you overreacted a little?"

She felt a flare of anger at the exasperation in that last remark, suppressed it. "Maybe I did overreact, Raoul, but did you stop to think that I might not be ready for that?"

"When will you be?" he asked suddenly, his candor shocking her.

She replied with like frankness. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready, Raoul. I don't..." she paused, trying to make what she was saying less harsh. She didn't want to hurt him, just make him understand. Why was that so difficult? "I don't know if that's what I want."_ If _you're _what I want.  
_

_You know very well, Christine_. her conscience admonished her. She thrust that thought aside.

He sighed, put his hands in his pockets. When he looked at her again, his face was set. "If it's time you want, I'll wait."

"Don't."

Christine realized how cold that must have sounded, and softened her voice. "Don't wait for me, Raoul. I don't want you to deny yourself an opportunity to be happy." _You won't find what you're looking for with me._

The hazel eyes were unwavering. "I'll wait."

She shook her head and turned to go. He stopped her before she had gone two steps. "When can I talk to you again?"

_Are you really sure you'd be able to wait, Raoul?_ Christine wondered.

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "I don't know."

Christine walked on and this time he did not stop her.

Once inside the apartment, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the door. The draft from the air conditioning brushed her hair into her eyes.

_What does he want?_

She knew very well what he wanted. She just didn't understand it. Why _her_, why not someone else? What was it about her that had him so riveted? Christine didn't try to convince herself that she was particularly stunning, or that she was some kind of brightly colored social butterfly with some kind of magnetizing élan. The fact remained that she wasn't. To her mind, she was no different than half a dozen of the girls that might have thrown themselves in Raoul's path, except that they were interested and she was not. Surely there were other girls more compatible with him, girls that could certainly be more attractive or willing.

So why her?

She had a vague sense of someone in her vicinity before he spoke.

"You look cheerful. Is the morning air not as fresh as it's made out to be?" Erik leaned a shoulder against the door frame, seemingly at ease, a half-smile lighting the unmasked side of his face. But there was a sense of tension around him. Christine couldn't quite put her finger on it. A tenuous whisper upon the air, the barest sense of hesitation, reservation...

She sighed and settled for a shrug. "I saw Raoul."

His voice sharpened. "What?"

She felt a headache building, on top of a dull, efferent ache that seemed to center around a leaden weariness in her chest. "We talked. He- I don't know, Erik. He just can't let this go and I-" she broke off. _I wish I knew what to do._

The blue eyes were unreadable, unfathomable as though she looked through a sunlit sky and hoped to see the stars beyond. "Would you like me to talk to him?"

She blinked at the offer. "No, I'm sure that's not necessary, it's just..." Christine knew that eventually, it would have to be her that convinced Raoul. Her and no one else. Yes, she ached for what he was offering, for the whole matter to be over with and forgotten, but that was the easy way out, that was the childish thing to do. It could only lead to hurting someone.

Christine didn't want to hurt anyone.

"If he won't leave you alone, Christine..." Erik's eyes were touched with the same concern in his voice, an effluent care.

She shook her head, a morose gloom settling over her. "It's not that. I don't think he'll bother me for a while. It's just that..." she paused. _It's not fair that he thinks I can give him what he needs, or that he can give me what I need. It's not fair to him or to me._

Erik raised an eyebrow. "If you wish to lament the ineptitude of the male species, by all means, go ahead. I'll listen." His tone was light, there was a hint of a smile on his face. His eyes though, were entirely serious and she felt a rush of gratitude at the sense that he was trying to put her at ease, torn between laughing or crying. She smiled, and this time it didn't feel so forced.

"I have another idea."

"Heaven help us." he murmured. She mock-frowned at him, the greyness lifting, and he smiled faintly in return.

The frown faded as she looked up into his eyes, solemn. "Would you give me a music lesson?"

He inclined his head. "If you like." he said simply. A warmth like sunlight touched his eyes.

_Like sunlight on the sea... _A whisper traced its way up her spine, a warmth shrouding her.

Christine smiled her thanks. "I would." She hugged him briefly; he tensed and patted her back awkwardly. Christine sighed mentally and wondered just what had caused that unsurety, almost a distrust, that he seemed to have with physical touch. _What is he afraid of?_ Who was that woman in the photograph? She put the thought aside and smiled up at him, trying to communicate a reassurance, a gratitude with her eyes. "Thank you."

It was only when they reached the music room that he relaxed again.

**Erik**

He fought off a rise of irritation and resisted the very tempting urge to throw something. The feel of her body against his, as it had been in the dream, the complete trust in her eyes, was not at all soothing to his nerves. The way she had looked up at him with dark eyes intent, almost as though she meant to reassure him of something. The emanation of sentiment that had risen in him in reply.

_ Damn it all to hell, Erik. You're just protective of her because she's lost her father, is grieving, and has to deal with that boy on top of it. That's all this is._

If he just ignored any other feelings, disregarded them, they would go away with time. He could control these feelings, rid himself of them; Erik had nothing if not his self-control.

He had almost convinced himself of this when he saw Christine sleeping on the couch, a book dangling from one hand, curled up catlike against the arm. She was so innocent, lying there so simply, completely unaware. The lamplight softened her face, infusing her skin with a subtle glow. She lay there so still, so fragile. For all her strength and compassion, there was a terrible vulnerability in her sometimes. The desire to heal, not to harm. A gentleness that had been her downfall with the boy. Erik felt his face soften as he looked at her. _Christine._

A blind faith that nothing would harm her. A unsullied and utter trust. A slow burning, like rising embers, that he had no name for made its way through him. A glow like the setting sun cast across the sky, one horizon a fading light, the other a midnight blue nightfall strewn with brightness. Erik watched her for a moment, the calm rise and fall of her breathing, the tranquil features, before his earlier question came back to haunt him.

_What would she think of you?_

Thankfully, he didn't have to answer that question, because there was a knock at the door.

Christine showed no sign of waking.

Erik could venture a guess as to who it was and was tempted- very tempted- not to answer. But a second, firmer knock changed his mind. Christine might not be stirring at the moment, but if she woke and had to talk to him again, he had the feeling that she might not come out of it so calmly this time. Or at least he knew that the deadened apathy would not last. There was only so long Christine could stay numb to the situation, and Erik felt that she did not need another dramatic outburst like the one of yesterday.

She did not need to cry again.

He opened the door. "Mr. DeChangey." He glanced at the clock as though by a whim. It was well past nine. Erik let a polite surprise steal across the visible half of his face. "I didn't know you were coming."

The boy's face was set. "May I speak with Christine?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid that she's asleep." When the boy opened his mouth to reply, Erik added softly. "I think you've done enough for today, Mr. DeChagney. Let her rest."

They eyed each other for a moment, than the younger sighed. "Will you tell her I came by?"

Erik shrugged noncommittally. "Good night, Mr. DeChagney."

And he had to be satisfied with that.

**Raoul**

_I need to talk to her._ The draft from the air conditioning bit at him like the touch of a wind clean and sharp with snow.

"I think you've done enough for today, Mr. DeChagney." Erik's voice was velveted, icy. There was a hint of something, almost a veiled threat, behind it. So faint a warning that Raoul was not sure that he had not imagined it. "Let her rest." The strangely intense eyes were almost falcon-like on him. Hard and bright, an unnerving tint of blue. Raoul found them disturbing to hold, but forced himself to meet the enigmatic eyes. _What has she told him? _What had Christine trusted _him_ with that she couldn't trust to Raoul himself? The white mask gleamed at him; he fought off the unease it presented.

"Will you tell her I came by?" _Tell her I need to make amends?_

He was answered with a shrug that promised nothing. "Good night, Mr. DeChagney."

Raoul frowned as the door closed. There was something in the man's tone, something hovering just out of reach of consciousness...

Just out of reach.

**Christine**

She stirred sleepily, the muscles of her neck complaining as she sat up. She winced, looked up at Erik, who stood just outside the door. "Did someone come by? I thought I heard voices."

He shook his head, concern tingeing the bright eyes. And something else. Something that sent a questioning through her like a ray of sunlight into a dark place. "No one. You must have been dreaming."

She sat back, massaged her aching temples. _God, for a simple life_. The whole business with Raoul, on top of her father's death, must have been affecting her more strongly than she thought.

_But I'm sure I heard voices._

She shook her head. _Christine, you must have been dreaming. _She looked up to see that the sky colored eyes were still on her, strangely brilliant. A wordless question seemed to hang between them in the silence, a tremoring extension of the psyche.

_You must have been dreaming._

Later that night, she stirred restlessly in her bed. Her thoughts were like leaves chasing each other in the wind, going nowhere. Her parent's faces, Raoul's questions, Erik's eyes on hers, all began to blend in a disturbing kaleidoscope in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, they were there. Watching her. Inside her mind, where she could not cast them out.

She was about to forsake sleep and get up when a melody began to wind through the air. Christine went still to listen, half-propping herself up on her elbows.

She laughed softly, incredulously, felt a smile curve her lips as a warmth traced its way up her spine. It was the tune to 'Angel of Music'. It was for her, she knew, but how did he know the song? She closed her eyes, feeling the piano keys vibrate through her, brushing at the fiber of her being, rippling and caressing the fabric of her spirit. She felt a warm glow budding at her core, like the first touch of dawn over a garden, turning the opaque paleness of petals to flaming incandescence. The light burned more brightly still, the color and the warmth heightening until she felt alight. The aura within her chased the images back, drowned the discordant sounds in serene song. Christine lay back down, looking out at the soft, gentle moonlight and smiling. She traced the fabric of her pillow, basking in the soothing reverie of the music that caressed her. She wondered how he knew the song.

She found, as she lay there, that it didn't matter.

_Thank you, Erik._


	16. Adulthood

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.**

**Thank you for all of the fantastic and encouraging reviews. You guys are wonderful.  
**

**Lee**

**

* * *

**

**Adulthood**

**Christine**

She woke to find that music still in her mind three days later. She shook her head wryly._ I don't know whether to thank him or not for getting it stuck in my head!_

Christine smiled and watched the sun rise over the park, bathing it in glowing green and gold. It spread tentative fingers, like roots seeking through the soil, brightening everything that it touched. Wisps of mist still clung here and there, an amorphous veil lit golden in the faint light. She closed her eyes at the warmth of it upon her face, an amber incandescence against her eyelids, savoring the tranquil heat and the quiet. The sunlight seemed to transfer some kind of mystic serenity to her, the touch of it like a springwater flowing into a rain-starved valley. _What a gorgeous day._

_ My birthday._

The thought was almost wistful. Christine sat up slowly and let herself absorb that knowledge.

Not that it made much difference, really. She would still be living in Nadir's house until college started. But still, one didn't turn eighteen every day.

She looked up impulsively into the sunrise, banding the sky with rose and amber as it had that morning she had sung to them. Her parents. Christine reached out as though she could wrap herself in that sunrise, feel the warmth and the light of it running through her veins to flood her with its sweet illumination, a latent potency through which she could almost touch the heavens. _My eighteenth birthday._ She propped her head up on her elbows, looking out over the brightening sky. _Angel, I wish they were here to share it with me._ She stretched out a hand absently, tracing the line of a rose-ribbed cloud with a gentle finger. _I wish they were here... _

_I miss them. Dad always used to say that birthdays led to something lifechanging. He never explained what he meant by that._

She slid out of bed, a meditative mood overtaking her, a contemplation of what this day, any day meant to her. _I'm one day closer to something. Is it sad or joyous? Is it beautiful? Will it raise me or break me? _

_Will it give me what I think I'm looking for, or show me what I really need? _The hardwood floor was cool against her bare feet, sun motes danced in the bright shapes the windows cast. The scent of brewing coffee, sweet and rich, led her to the kitchen. _Will I find more disillusion? _A painful wondering condensed in her throat to extend tendrils of shadowy doubt. Christine turned her eyes from that thought.

_Or could I find hope?_

Erik sat at the table, humming 'The Angel of Music' softly. A trail of musical notes following his pen across the paper. Sunlight drew bold fingers over them both, softening and brightening.

He looked up as she came in, smiled, eyes lightening. The light brought a glowing warmth to the left side of his face in startling contrast to the smooth, cool planes of the mask. "Happy eighteenth, Christine." His voice was touched by a warm calm. The lilt of it recalled a gentle flow of the waves in the morning light, the stretch of sunlight over the park.

She didn't return it. "How do you know that song?" she asked, curiosity piqued. She poured herself a cup of coffee as she waited for her answer. The caffeine made her feel slightly more awake; she watched him inquisitively.

A smile that was almost secretive gleamed in his eyes, a coruscating brightness like a flash of sunlight across the sky. The coffee sent a sudden rush of adrenaline through her.

Erik stood, the faint smile hovering. "Follow me."

Christine stared at him, nonplussed. "You can't just tell me?"

His lips parted in a smile. "Indulge me."

She set down her coffee. "And here I thought it was _my_ birthday." she said wryly. He laughed quietly in reply and led her to the music room, merely glancing back with amusement at her further inquiries.

He laid a folder out on the piano, hand pausing lovingly for a moment on it. "Here." He took her hand, placed it on the folder. "Open it."

Intrigued, she obeyed. Arias, madrigals, passed under her questing hands. The papers whispered softly under her fingers. Christine's eyes trailed over the music as she searched, the notes leaving an imprint, a sweet echoing in her mind. She had the sudden impression of a bud unfurling into sunlight, golden and gleaming.

He reached out and stopped her hand.

There had been no need to. Christine eyed the title with bewilderment.

_The Angel of Music._

"The original score." he said quietly, eyes on hers.

She looked up at him. "You wrote this?" A soft, incredulous laugh escaped her. Warmth rushed to her cheeks, she looked down in abashed wonder. "And I thought I couldn't have been more embarrassed when I told you!"

He raised an eyebrow. "You have excellent taste." She saw the hints of what was almost a smirk curve his mouth.

She ran a hand through her hair, chagrined. _My God. _Christine felt her face burn. "I don't know quite what to say."

He lifted the paper, laid it in her hands. "Will this make it up to you?" he asked quietly, blue eyes intent.

She stared at him, uncomprehending. The shadow of a smile curved his lips. "Happy birthday, Christine."

Christine fingered the paper, feeling astonishment sweep her features. "Erik, I..." she looked up to see the sky colored eyes warmed. "Thank you." She smiled, then, on impulse, flung her arms around him, laughing. "Thank you!"

His usual stillness seemed to give way under her enthusiasm and he returned the gesture after a moment's surprise. Christine smiled up at him. "Thank you so much!" She felt dizzyingly exhilarated, still trying to absorb the paper in her hand. Adrenaline flooded her in a heady rush, like the sudden blaze of summer. A dazzling, blooming energy.

His eyes flickered with a fleeting brightness. "You're welcome, Christine." he replied softly; the smile faded. There was a strange solemnity to his voice.

The clear blue of his eyes stilled her.

She was suddenly, acutely aware of their proximity. The beat of his heart against her skin, in sync with the currents stirring in the eyes like the sea. The warmth at her back. She laughed awkwardly and drew back. "Sorry. I- got a little over-enthusiastic, I guess."

He smiled slightly, it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's all right, Christine."

A moment of silence stretched, in which the room seemed to breathe a secrecy into the air around them. Again, Christine felt the strange sanctity of it brush her, caressing her with pristine clarity that was yet clouded by the veil of some intangible mystery. She felt drawn to a dreaming world beyond the physical, a depth beyond the flat mundane. It was as though her Angel watched her, bright seraph's eyes guarding. A warmth enveloped her and drew her spirit to the surface. Christine paused, reaching out through the quiet. What was it that hovered in the air like a stirring from dormancy, the emergence of life from the earth? What touched her with a tentative warmth like summer flowering? What was it in this room that so magnetized her, drawing her like flames to wind, sparking an inexpressible, endless longing?

_Angel..._

The phone rang. Christine flinched, brought back to the tangible.

"I'll get it." offered Erik.

She trailed behind him into the kitchen, picking up her coffee again. The tune of 'Angel of Music' drifted through her as she traced the notes on the creamy paper. A sense of wonder overtook her as she looked at its creator. _Who would have thought..._

_The Angel of Music._ Christine felt a slow stirring in the back of her mind. Dimly, she heard the low melody of Erik's voice, her thoughts were drawn slowly inward as though she sank into a deep pool, an endless, unexplored sea cradling her within blue, gentle currents. Christine searched that protective ocean, a vast place of mysteries. _The Angel of Music. _Something extended a tentative tendril to her consciousness. She closed her eyes, trying to remember why she felt as though it should be somehow significant.

She could almost touch that thought, felt it hovering on the edges of her perception. It hesitated on the border of her waking mind. Christine felt her breath still. Almost...

"It's Nadir."

She looked up. The thought fled her. Erik held the phone out to her. "I believe he asked for 'the birthday girl'." Amusement reflected in his voice. Blue eyes gleamed with repressed laughter.

Christine laughed and accepted the proffered phone.

**Erik**

Moved by the same strange impulse that had led them here, he placed the paper in her unresisting hands. "Will this make it up to you?" He heard his voice soften, eyes searching her face. His logical side hissed a warning at him. She looked at him questioningly.

"Happy birthday, Christine." he said quietly.

Her fingers traced the notes. She paused, eyes flickering over the paper. "Erik, I..."

She looked up at him, eyes startling with the dark currents, the medley of emotion in them. Shock, gratitude, awe. "Thank you." A radiant smile transformed her features, the mahogany eyes glowing, a sudden, blazing vibrancy suffusing her.

He started as her arms went around him. "Thank you!" A cascade of laughter rippled around the room, light and clear as a spring under sunlight.

To his surprise, he found himself returning the gesture. His mind again issued a stern reprimand.

He ignored it in the face of Christine's unbound joy. She turned brilliant eyes to him, flushed with delight. "Thank you so much!" She seemed almost to glow, radiating rather than reflecting the effulgent sunlight.

Her exhilaration emanated like the blazing sun, almost tangible, infusing him with a flaming brilliance, a warmth that almost seemed content. A warmth that was almost... protective. Erik's blood stilled. "You're welcome, Christine."

Her eyes paused on his; he felt himself spiral down into the swirling depth of them as he realized how close she was, the flow of blood like a rushing tide under her skin. Just how close he held her, the dark eyes suddenly wide on his. Her smile faded, like sunlight veiled; she drew away. An awkward laugh forced itself from her throat. "Sorry. I- got a little over-enthusiastic, I guess."

He replied with a smile that he didn't quite feel. It was as though something had withdrawn back into itself, shrinking back to the shadows in absence of light. "It's all right, Christine." His voice was quiet.

Silence reigned in the physical world. Inside _him_, it was a different story. His mind, irritated at the display of sentimentality, almost affection, warred with the spirit still warmed by the radiant glow that her smile, like her song, had infused within him. _What is..._

It was a moment before the acrid sting of reality struck him. The stark meaning of the aura of the spirit, the nervous tension of the body. Erik felt it creep over him, a coldness chilling and dulling the warmth and the brilliance of moments ago.

_I thought nothing like this would ever happen._

_ I thought I would be able to..._

With a sinking feeling, he realized that whatever he felt for her wasn't going to go away; the emotions catalyzed by the dream three nights previous could not be discarded. And he couldn't delude himself any more by trying to call them compassion or empathy. He couldn't make whatever he was feeling go away. His mind denounced the realization with a vehemence uncommon to cold logic, but could not refute it. His time of denial had passed; he no longer had that luxury.

He wanted to curse the young woman in front of him for somehow transcending his walls of distance and pride, for touching him with her ethereal song. For calling out to him in the night. For having woken a vulnerability that had lain fallow for years, breaking the control that had been the one of the few things left that were his own.

_How- when did this happen- why did I never notice it?_

He probably would have continued in oblivion had it not been for the dream. He wondered just how long it had been going on before his unwelcome epiphany. Erik felt a rush of the darker emotions at the revelation, cold contrast to her brightness. He suppressed a smile that was not at all amused. _From the moment she first called for an Angel. You idiot. Why did you answer her?_

_Why do you hope she could answer_ you?_ It's a fool's hope, Erik, and you've absolutely no right to think it._

Erik wondered just what kind of unfortunate karma he had to have this happen to him. _Do you honestly believe that, even if she wasn't repulsed by the idea, she could feel any kind of affection for you? This is_ you _we're talking about, Erik_.

He realized that she was still watching him, could not quite meet her eyes. With the admittance of_ this_, how could he?

_What would she think of you?_

The phone split the air. Christine flinched, but to him, the dissonant jangle sounded like a godsend, an anchor to something tangible, something that he still had some measure of control over. "I'll get it." He managed to keep the note of relief from his voice at the interruption.

He heard her behind him as he made his way to the phone. He forced away the discord that was the echo of her steps. _Control, Erik._

"Hello?"

Nadir's voice issued from the phone, stirring up the sickened rushes of guilt and anger before Erik suppressed them once more.

"Morning, Nadir."

"Morning, Erik. Might I speak with the birthday girl?"

Erik forced a semblance of levity into his voice. "You never called on my birthday."

"You hate being reminded of your birthday, Erik." Nadir said amusedly.

"Once I passed twenty-one, it ceased to have any benefits." Erik replied. "Here's Christine." He offered the phone to her. 'It's Nadir. I believe he asked for 'the birthday girl."

She took the phone, laughing, her radiance restored.

He looked away. _Be her Angel, Erik. _

_But don't hope to be anything else._

**Nadir**

"Happy birthday, Christine! How are you?"

He could hear her smile through the lightness of her voice. "Thanks, Uncle Nadir. I'm well."

Nadir smiled and shook his head. "It's your birthday, Christine. You should be more than _well,_ I hope."

She laughed. "All right. Just for you, I'll be ecstatic." she replied amusedly.

"That's my girl." Nadir said fondly. "Happy birthday, Christine. I love you."

"I love you too." His goddaughter's voice was warm. "Take care."

"You too."

Nadir heard the click of the phone and hung up, smiling. _Happy birthday, Christine._

**Christine**

Christine set the phone down gently, feeling a burn behind her eyes. It had been so good to hear from him, so good, but... but... Christine blinked as her vision swam.

Nadir's voice only brought back the realization that he was the only living relative she had left. Her parents weren't here to share her birthday with her. He should have been here, her father standing insistently over her with a camera and telling her to make a wish later tonight.

It was the loss of him that hurt most. She had had several birthdays without her mother; that loss was a dull ache. It was the loss of her father that seared her so sharply, a physical agony throbbing through her. Christine swallowed and rubbed a hand over her eyes.

"Christine?"

She looked up to find Erik's eyes on her. At the care in them, the color the sea had been in her memories of them, she almost lost control.

"I wish they were here." Her voice was soft with the effort of holding back the shadows.

His voice was equally soft, she felt his eyes on hers, saw them as though through a rain-washed window. "I'm sure they know."

She felt her lips curve bitterly. "How, Erik? They're gone." She paused as the impact of the words hit her, a slow, heavy wave that flooded her with deadened darkness. _They're gone._ She felt a splintering inside of her as the sensation poured through her, as though she were a tree to be uprooted and broken by a ponderous flood. Her mouth suffused with a salty bitterness, her throat scalded. It was as though rain struck her, not the gentle rains that nurtured and supported, but the tempests that flooded and destroyed._ They're gone._ She gripped the edges of the counter, unflinching as the edges bit into her hands. The pain was nothing to the choking ache inside of her. "They're gone."

She started with surprise as she felt warmth enfold her. Her heart jumped, body trembling in the sudden rush of emotion. It cascaded over her, slipping, sliding, falling ever downward. And yet there was no end. She heard his voice, a quiet whisper in her ear. "You know you've felt them."

She turned toward him, arms going around his waist in desperation. It was as though she were adrift in a wild sea and he the tower rising above it, a pillar to cling to. A sanctuary, a harbor from her own internal storms. As he had been that morning she had sung to them. The morning she had felt them and he had been there to hold her.

She looked up to see a world of vivid blue, an unclouded, boundless sky. Eyes without end, eyes like summer. Warm and compassionate, touched with myriad things she could not yet define, but that drew her to them as a sunflower followed the blazing sun across the sky. "Tell me, Christine, do you think they'd ever truly leave you?" His voice was like the faint touch of a breeze in midsummer, carrying a thousand secret things as it brushed her.

A painful hope budded, twisting up recklessly inside of her. "Do you mean that?" she asked. Her voice was strangled, wrenched with the tears that burned against her skin. She felt them slide, a ferocity and a desperation in them as she looked up at him.

His eyes remained steady on hers, but there was a sudden infliction on them, as though her melancholy had spread to him; his voice lowered. "I would never say anything to you that I didn't mean, Christine." He took her hand, leading her to the door. "Come."

She followed him to the living room. If he noticed how tight her hand was on his, he said nothing of it.

He sat her down, rifled through a collection of videos. He pulled one away, knelt.

Christine blinked as the screen flared to life. An arch of white flowers spread over a green aisle of grass, framed by white benches. "That's-"

He sat by her. As an auburn-haired woman appeared under the arch, radiant in white, her eyes like spring gleaming with laughter and tears, he finished softly. "Your parents wedding."

Christine fixed her eyes on the radiant couple, a hunger stirring in her. A vast, aching emptiness seemed to stretch inside of her, an unvoiced, unfulfilled longing threatening to engulf her. She leaned against him, needing the warmth, the reality of another. Something tangible against her.

Laughter cascaded from the screen, the camera panned to a woman holding a knife over the cake, delicately sliding out a slice. A flash of smiles, shining eyes.

The wedding, the hospital after her birth, her first recital, a summer vacation by the sea, a white Christmas, all passed before her eyes. She drank it in like a rain-starved garden, feeling a restorative calm ebb through her, warmth unfurling tender leaves under the touch like sunlight. Her head dropped to his shoulder, tears slowing

_They're gone._ her mind whispered.

_Do you think they'd ever truly leave you? _Christine felt a sad, tender smile on her lips, a heat like the touch of the morning's sun spread through her.

_No._ A warm, protective presence enveloped her, offering selfless reassurance without regard or care for itself. It filtered through her like sunlight seeking through darkness, comforting, embracing._ No, they wouldn't._

She looked up to see a young girl's smile.

_They wouldn't_.

At last the screen flickered to darkness, showing only the reflection of an young woman leaning against a man who looked down at her with both care and question in his eyes. Christine turned her eyes from the reflection to the reality, smiled up at the man who looked at her so intently. "Thank you."

He smiled slightly and she felt a questioning rise from the serenity. Despite the warmth of that smile there was something... something in them. A bleak shadow masked with compassion. Christine suddenly wanted to know the reason for the darkness behind the bright eyes.

And yet she could not ask. In the face of all he had given her, how could she pry into that darkness fully the equal of her own?

And yet... how could she not? After the care, the compassion he had shown her, the unasked-for comfort, given without obligation or demand. How could she allow him to keep the pain he had alleviated in her? Her blood raced at the shadows behind the light intensity_. What can't I see?_

_ What lies at the heart of_ his _darkness?_

"Erik," she started.

The shadows flickered. "Yes?"

_What can't I see? _She hesitated. "It's just... thank you."

_What casts that shadow over him?_

The darkness behind his eyes wavered and then was veiled. "Any time, Christine."

**Erik**

At some point her head fell against his shoulder, coppery hair brushing his neck. She contemplated what the videos presented to her with more or less tranquility. The need in her eyes was being slowly fulfilled by the memories.

When the screen went black, he was confronted with the image of her leaning against him. He looked down at her, a content radiating from her now, an inner peace found once more.

Christine's head lifted, her eyes warm on his. Alive.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft, her tone conveying more than the simple words could say. Her features glowed with a strange serenity.

It faded suddenly, as her eyes searched his, a sudden questioning in them. As though she sought to pierce the facade he had raised. Erik felt a chill. What could she see, as her dark eyes looked so intently into his?

"Erik," she began, voice hesitant.

He suppressed the rise of tension in him. Was he really that transparent to her? Could she see that far beyond the walls he had built, the mask he held before him? Could she see behind his masquerade?

_What would she think of you?_

"Yes?" he asked warily.

She seemed to falter and he began to breathe again. She did not realize. "It's just... thank you."

Strangely now, he saw concern in her eyes. A care and a warmth in the autumnal depths that sent a sudden ripple of emotions through him, a nostalgia for the day she had sung to him as the sun set. A longing for the yesterday that had never been. _Christine..._

."Any time, Christine." he answered quietly.

_Angels give hope, Erik. They don't keep any for themselves. _

_Only humanity clings to hope._


	17. Awakening

**Disclaimer: I do not own the song "Remember When It Rained" by Josh Groban or POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.  
**

**Note I - Symbolism.**

**Thank you for all of the fabulous, insightful reviews. I appreciate each and every one. **

**Lee **

**

* * *

**

**Awakening**

**Erik**

_"Wash away the thoughts inside  
_

_that keep my mind away from you."_

Her dark eyes dwelt on his, her voice echoing in the musical plash of rain against the window. The hesitant whisper of his name hours previous. A question she had not had the courage to voice in the end. A wide-eyed wondering she had not been bold enough to answer.

_"Erik,"_

The wind drove a sudden sheet of water against the window, the flare of lightening illuminating every drop, turning them into living beacons before the sky was plunged into darkness once more. He heard his name, her voice, in the sigh of water over glass.

_Why are you doing this to yourself, Erik? Have you no control? _He felt a rush of hopeless anger thrash against him.

It could not last, but subsided into a cold resignation. Erik listened to the torrent of rain, taking a strange peace in the violence of the storm outside. As though it took his darkness for its own.

_"No more love and no more pride.  
_

_And thoughts are all I have to do."_

_You gave up love long ago, Erik. You remember why._

Yes, he remembered Maya, but Christine was not Maya. Maya had raised those walls around him. Christine had transcended them. Maya had reached out and deepened the scars. Christine had reached out to heal them.

_What makes you think this would be any different if, by some miracle, she accepted you?_ his logic retorted, unmoved by sentimentality. _How could you be sure that the past wouldn't repeat itself? How could you even contemplate telling her in the first place? What would she think of you? Think of that, if you can't convince yourself of anything else. _

_You've sacrificed your pride, try to salvage some self-control!_

_You have nothing else._ He had nothing but these thoughts. Nothing but these half-imagined, half-hoping illusions his heart tried to delude him with. He was nothing to her but an angel, a platonic, spiritual comfort. Remote, abstracted. Intangible and untouchable. There was no earthly bond to be forged between them. There was no hope for normalcy in the near-impossible event of something between them, no hope for blessed simplicity.

As a man, there were gaping chasms between them, the barriers of past and flesh. As her Angel, love was an impossibility. One did not have human desire or affection for an _Angel. _

_Angels can't be loved._

**Christine**

_She stood in a grove caught between winter and spring. Weak sunlight shone down on her in uncertain rays. Milky green and ecru grasses thrust themselves through half-melted snows. Trees surrounded her, stretching half-clad arms to the pale sky in the oppressive silence, casting odd, blue-grey shadows on the ground that reached out to touch her and snake their way up her skin. Branches barely budding were hung with drifts of white, the life in them frozen before it had even been warmed. The scant warmth of the sun was further chilled by the snow-laden breeze, sharp with the scent of ice._

_ A glint of brightness caught her eye; drawn to it, she crossed the snow-field to find her own reflection staring back at her, eyes anxious, questioning, their darkness stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. _

_She started as another appeared in the mirror behind her. _

_Raoul watched her over her shoulder, eyes finding hers in the mirror. They seemed imbued by the colors of the grove, pale green and yellow gleaming, as though she looked into some half-melted, moss-cloaked spring._

_ She did not turn. She felt herself shaking, saw her breath cloud before her, coming in short, unsteady bursts. _

_Christine closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she found she could not look away. She stared, transfixed as her features wavered in her reflection. Helpless fascination and numb horror held her fast as her face rippled and melded into a new shape that was her own and not her own. She looked at a semblance of herself, a girl with dark, coppery hair and eyes, pale skin. A distorted reflection as though she looked at herself in broken water. A girl who smiled laughingly though Christine could feel no such expression on her face. _

_She watched as Raoul slid a hand along the ivory curve between neck and shoulder, her heart beating wildly, like a bird throwing itself against the bars of a cage. His head lowered, following the line of his hand with his lips. Christine shuddered at the surety of the motion as his arms went around the girl. The quiet intensity of his downcast eyes made her blood hum in her ears. Who was the girl in the mirror- why did she seem so familiar and yet so strange?  
_

_He turned her head to his. The mirror-girl's lips parted. _

_Christine's mind flashed to the photo on the mantel._

_ Dawn-!_

Christine sat bolt upright as a crackling roar resounded through the room. She shivered, staring into the shadows. _What was that? What's the matter with me? What was that dream?_

She felt herself shaking, a cold numbness trickling through her. _Am I going crazy?_

The reality of her dream-world shook her. It had seemed so vivid, so clear. It had seemed almost truth, a strange bending and rippling of reality that reflected a warped image of the tangible world. So strangely lucid, so frighteningly convincing. Christine buried her head in hands that trembled. Dream had become reality for a moment, and in the darkness of the night, with the rain and the lightening surrounding her, the two seemed to meld and mold, inseparable. She felt herself descending into something that threatened to consume her. Filling her eyes, her lungs, seeping into her mind with frightening inevitability. Smothering her spirit like smoke, threatening to overwhelm her, to choke the last rays of light with its darkness.

_Oh God..._

It was the faint brush of music that drew her back as she began to sink into those shadowy depths, music encircling her and pulling her back towards light and sanity. Back to where the margins of the real and the surreal were clear and comprehensible.

Christine slipped from the bed.

**Erik**

_"Remember when it rained.  
_

_I felt the ground and looked up high and called _

_your name."_

_"Angel..."_

Erik flinched at the sound, a product of his own imagination and no reality as the word was defined. The innocence and reverence with which she had breathed that name, an incredulous awe. Her autumnal eyes, wide and wondering, yet unseeing. Glowing with the intensity of renewed hope, a thankful reverie. Unable to look through the veil of the half-conscious mind and see the reality within the shadows.

_"Angel..."_

The soft remembrance of her voice reverberated through him, brushing him with wings of fire, brightly blazing before fading to embers. _Why did you call for an Angel, Christine? Why did you trap us both with false hopes and dreams that night?_

And yet he could not blame her, for he had been the one to answer her. As much as he longed to lash out at something for his lapse, his newfound vulnerability, it could not be her. He could not defile her with his thoughts of angered injustice.

Not her.

_"Remember when it rained.  
_

_In the darkness I remain."_

_What would you think, Christine, if you knew the truth of your dark Angel? What would you think of your Angel of Music then?_

All of the times he had cloaked himself in shadow to be able to comfort her. The masquerade of a spiritual incarnation that alleviated her pain was both blessing and curse. It had bound him, inescabely, irrevocably, to the shadowed world of her dreaming mind. It had bound him to the unspoken secrets of the night, where truth could be masked with darkness. It had bound him to protect her, to love her from the shadows.

Would it ever be possible to unmask himself? Simply let the moonlight strike his face with cold, unflinching reality? Would it ever be possible to transgress or break the facade, to emerge from the shadows?

_ To disillusion her? _That would be cruel.

_Would it not be more cruel to give her false comfort? _whispered a remote part of him, the part most removed from the self.

_Has she anything else?_ he answered it. _Will I break whatever slender hope she clings to?_

Would he deepen the lament in her dark eyes?

_"Tears of hope run down my skin.  
_

_Tears for you that will not dry."_

_Is it her hopes you're afraid of breaking, Erik, or your own? In whatever twisted dream, do you still hope? Is it for her sake or for yours that you will not release what allows you to comfort her, to be so close to her? _

Erik could not answer. Breathless, his mind held itself still. Around him the rain beat down with a ferocity that was oddly contrasted with the eerie calm he held in his mind. A calm that might shatter as the sky was split by lightning, at the passing of a single moment.

He looked down and caught the reflection of the white mask in the glossy ebony of the piano. Ironically, appropriately, it was the first thing to come into focus, the living side of his face hovering in haze before becoming steadily visible. Bright eyes looked back at him, indefinable things coursing through them with fevered intensity. Things that did not long remain, but flowed like rain over stone to slide away into oblivion.

His eyes lingered on the still mask, cold and lifeless. _Why do you cling to hope, Erik?_

_"They magnify the one within.  
_

_And let the outside slowly die."_

Bitterness curved his lips, a self-disgust at the frailty of all his walls. So weak as to let a single young woman slip through them and kindle a hope that would never be fulfilled, but burn steadily in torturous remembrance, a candle in the shrine of unfufilled dreams, the incense it gave revealing nothing but illusion.

_ Angels don't have hopes, Erik; why are you allowing yourself to feel this way? That's all you can ever be to her, why do you dare to imagine something else? Do you think, in the light of day, so unmasked, that she could find anything for you? Do you think you would still be able to comfort her? Do you think that she could embrace as mortal what she clung to as immortal?_

His hands tensed on the keys before he forced them to relax._ Where is your control, where is your pride? Do you abandon them in pursuit of something less than a dream? _

_What is hope but an illusion? Pride, self-control, those are real things, Erik. Those are what kept you alive. Those are what kept you strong. Would you tell her; would you cast them aside for a delusion? _

_For a love never to be requited?_

**Christine**

The rain beat steadily over the skylights, casting flowing patterns down the walls and over her skin, as though she stood inside some fantastical waterfall.

She glanced at the clock on her dresser as she slipped on a robe, feeling her skin prickle in the chill of the air conditioning.

Blinking numbers greeted her.

_ Power's out._

The thought failed to hold her as she followed the music that trailed through the halls, swept away by the sounds that resonated within her, kindling a glowing fire as it brushed her psyche. Inevitably drawn, she moved soundlessly down the hall, the beat of the rain and low rumbles of thunder a fading background to the clarion song that enwrapped her.

_"Remember when it rained.  
_

_I felt the ground and looked up high and called _

_your name."_

Christine paused on the threshold. There was such a depth to that voice, the music of it conveying a sense of loss, hopelessness. The desperation of the unrequited.

Was he thinking of the woman in the photograph? Christine paused to study the tableau, the man deaf to the dark beauty of the music that he created, hearing only the loss and regret, illuminated in a sudden flash of lightening. He did not see her, as she stood and watched and listened. He seemed lost in his own reality, not unlike the ice-realm he had retreated to before. After she had asked him who the woman was. But... this was different.

The glow of the candlelight revealed no photograph before him, the flash of lightning illuminated nothing of the strange woman. Christine did not think he was mourning her.

_What then?_ What secrets laid in the shadows of his spirit? What dark things impelled the lament in that seraphic voice?

_What else is he masking?_

_"Remember when it rained.  
_

_In the water I remain.  
_

_... running down."_

Christine felt an ache grow inside of her, a hollowness that spread outward from her core. It trailed veins of cold longing through her, spreading tendrils and currents of sorrow, regret. It sparked an empathy, the faint glow of compassion, embers flickering in her psyche. As before, she felt something intangible, deep within her, a whisper in the anima. _Go._ It pressed her. _Speak. Sing. Will you leave him alone with his darkness? _

She looked at the man at the piano. The blue eyes that blazed into an unseen world; bright eyes that were blinded by the darkness of the music woven around him. A tremor ran through her, heart racing. Her breath shuddered.

_Will you do nothing?_

_"Running down.  
_

_Running down..."_

Christine felt his song pouring into her, the emotions flowing into her like rain. She closed her eyes. A murmur trailed up her spine at the lament of that voice, soft, so soft. A grief that cascaded over her, grey and cold and endlessly dark.

_Will you do nothing?_

A brightness rose in her, a flare of something like anger. It burned hot and blazing, searing.

_Will you do nothing?_

A suffusion, a resolution, pounded through her.

_No._

As his voice soared, launching like an eagle streaking heavenward, her voice joined his. Christine felt herself shaken to her core by the entwining of their combined voices, a great and blazing beauty in their song. A thrill of light and heat spread throughout her body, she felt tears springing to her eyes as her spirit trembled in response to the resonating glory. It flamed like the emergence of the sun from an eclipse, flaring hot and bright, a deliverance from darkness. It banished the shadows to be forever forgotten. There was only the light and the music and the sweet ascension. A consecration of their song, a promise that she forged, a wordless vow consummated in brilliant rhapsody.

She lost herself in the melody, basking in radiant reverie. Her body felt alight, her soul pressing against her skin, emotions amplified until she was consumed by them, a purity that raced through her, bathing her in seraphic wonder.

Then, all too soon, it faded, the glow diminishing with the descent of their voices, the energy fading to a low vibration. He was looking at her in astonished wonder; the longing in his incandescent eyes swaying her, her spirit quivering under the bright summer gaze as a harp trembled under the harper's hand.

_Longing? _she thought dazedly, mind still dazzled by the melody. She felt caught in that fathomless gaze, warm and bright, unable and unwilling to look away.

The voice deep within her murmured.

**Erik**

There was darkness all around him, a cloak of shadow that closed him off from reality. Numbed the truth and the anguish of the world. He felt himself caught up in it, tossed as though he was held in the currents of a rushing river.

If angels dwelt in Heaven, Erik certainly was not there.

_ No. More like an Angel in Hell._

Even as his voice ascended, Erik was frozen, in thrall to a vain hope.

Until a new voice joined his.

A wave of shock rocked him, flooding his senses with a world that was both real and fantastical. Brilliance surpassed the shadows, an efflorescing light infusing and suffusing him with radiance. A flame leapt through him at the sound, a keen resplendence that arose in perfect surety, an ascension of beauty that was at once both terrifying and exhilarating. A purity in their combined voices as they spiraled heavenward. A connection that bridged the chasm his failing pride and isolation had torn.

Erik shivered as the sound flowed through him. What had brought her, what had caused this... this...?

Thoughts were soon lost in the wonder of the music, swept away before the sound of sanctity, an intangible fusing of the psyche, a wild rhythm that linked soul to soul in sublime glory. His blood quickened, breath falling short. Here was Paradise.

And, as suddenly as it had risen, in perfect synchrony, it descended, fading to a whisper.

She looked back at him with dark, endless eyes, wide and wondering. They shone with unadulterated purity, a mahogany luminescence more brilliant than moonlight. Her hair tumbled around a face still glowing with the remnants of the music like a cascade of dark flame.

"I couldn't sleep." Her voice was soft, almost reverent, the last strains of resonant glory in it. Her whisper stirred the nameless currents in the air. "May I..?"

"Of course." His voice was equally quiet, as though he feared to break the lingering connection. Lightning lit the room with its stark flash then receded with a roll of thunder.

The rain fell softly down as she stepped over the threshold.

**Christine**

A melody, simple and soothing, wove through her mind. Christine stirred. Half rising, she propped herself up on her elbow.

Pale light, the first hint of dawn, crept over the room. A faint, silvery gleam. Clouded, opalescent, as it brushed the wings of night. The rain had slackened to a light misting, dove-grey, calming. Christine looked over from where she sat on the divan to the man at the piano. The tranquility of sleep was still upon her, she watched him with half-open eyes. He seemed so calm, relaxed, the left side of his face in quiet reflection. Christine smiled.

He glanced over at her. The sky colored eyes were warm, with the harmony and the music of the sea in them. They were at peace, clear and incandescent.

_ Beautiful._

"You're awake. You've been asleep for the better part of an hour."

"Have I?" she asked, voice a quiet wondering, not really expecting an answer. She sat up, the soft currents in the air stirring dreamlike, winding around her. Her spirit was like a still, sun-warmed pool, a great calm and serenity in its unruffled waters. And yet beneath the unwavering surface, there was a latency, a flowering unseen. It trailed through the air, through the music, through her.

Her eyes half-closed as another wave overtook her, somnolence washing over her in a serene tide, slow rhythm. She gazed over at him, feeling dreams descending on her once more. "Will you be here when... if..." she trailed off, having refrained from asking what she had intended._ Will you keep playing?_

He seemed to understand the unspoken question, his hands gliding smoothly over the glossy keys, echoing the falling rain. "Yes." he answered softly. His eyes dropped from hers; she felt the urge to go to him, to reach out to him, but sleep was irresistible, impossible to deny.

She saw him glance up once, with eyes as warm as summer, before she fell into dreams.


	18. Amentia

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. **

**Note I - Translated from Latin, 'amentia' means madness.**

**Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. **

**Lee**

**

* * *

**

**Amentia**

**Christine**

"Coming."

Christine made her way down the hall, in no particular hurry. The second knock was a little louder, more insistent. She sighed. _Some people. No patience._ "Coming!"

She opened the door. "Oh."

She forced a smile. "Hi." The air conditioning brought sharply to mind the ice-touched wind of her dream, the snow-clouded air in the photo on the mantel. A shiver traced her spine, she felt the distinctions of reality blurring round her again, the coldness of the mirror-grove touch her, the paled colors, suspended life. The frozen growth, the chill seeping into her veins, creeping ice to splinter her.

She shivered. Raoul's eyes were intent on hers, at odds with the welcoming smile. "Hi. Glad I managed to catch you this time."

_This time? _She blinked, shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I came by a few days ago, but you were asleep." Raoul paused, a somber sincerity underlying his voice. The hazel eyes were firm on her. "Chris, I think we should talk. Just sit down and try to figure this whole thing out. I don't like being so awkward with you." His voice was even, an attempt at soothing her, calming her into acquiescence.

As though she were a child to be coaxed. Or something yet more intimate... someone yet more familiar...

Christine tightened her grip on the door, the edge biting into her hand. "Not today, Raoul. I can't- not right now." Not when she could feel the mirror-girl descending on her, the grove caught between winter and spring all around her, closing her in. A prison of dying buds, encased in ice before they had ever felt the true touch of the sun. Christine saw the bare branches raising their arms above her, their tiny leaflets sheathed in cold.

Captive.

A nervous tension flowered in her, her heart beginning to pound in her ears. "I- I just can't deal with all of this right now, Raoul." _I can't..._ The photo on the mantel smiled at her. _I don't want to..._

"All of what?" Raoul raised his eyebrows in inquiry. Then he looked more closely at her and his voice warmed, concerned, as though what he saw there worried him. A note of care entered his tone. "Chris, if you need to talk about something-" His voice pled with her to trust him.

Why was his trust with her so deep? Did he really think that... that she could... "Please, Raoul. Just- not today. Later, I promise." Anything to make him go. Even if that meant a promise to bind her to the that place again. Just not now. _Not now, please._

Her skin prickled, she felt suddenly trapped, the dream taking hold of her. Blue-grey shadows creeping up her skin, twisting binds... "Please-"

_Please..._

**Raoul**

_My God. What's wrong with her?_ Her face was deathly in its pallor, bleached of all color, her breathing quick and shallow. There was a slight tremor in her voice, a flickering in her eyes as they stared into nothingness. If Raoul didn't know better, he would have said it was fear he felt coming off of her.

_It is._ he thought numbly, as he noted the quiver in her free hand, the sudden glassy, glazed look over her eyes. She didn't seem to see him.

"Chris, are you all right?"

She flinched. "Fine. I'm fine, Raoul, just-" she broke off. She seemed suddenly fey, some wild creature poised for flight.

_Chris-_ Raoul felt his heart tighten, blood suddenly humming. What wasn't being said? What could make her so afraid? "Chris, what's wrong?" He reached for her hand, clenched on the door. _Don't hide from me like this. Please._

She shrunk back from it. A coldness threaded through him at the tacit distrust. Almost as though she feared to be touched.

_ Why is she..._

"Chris?"

Her eyes were almost black with the tangle of emotions imbuing them. An endless, heaving sea, tempest-tossed. An oblivion beneath the surface like the vast, unexplored depths. Eyes that threatened to drown him if he looked too long, submerging him in an ocean of chaos and fear. "Just go." Her voice was soft, pleading.

Raoul fought off a rise of incredulity. What kind of person did she think he was? Would he leave her, would he leave_ anyone_ in the state that she was currently in?

_Not likely._

"Not when you're so upset." he said firmly. "Chris, whatever it is-"

"Is there a problem?"

Raoul stopped. Erik surveyed him over Christine's shoulder. Raoul felt a chill emanate from the man, an ice in the startling eyes, as cool and remote as the eerie white half-mask. For all the softness of his voice, there was an inflection in it that made Raoul suddenly wary. A thread of warning traced its way up his spine, whispering into the back of his mind.

A sudden flush infused the cheeks of the girl before him, easing the colorless face. Her eyes steadied somewhat. "Would you go?"

His jaw clenched, resolution solidifying. As though he would leave her when she was so blatantly upset. "Chris-"

"Mr. DeChagney." Erik intervened quietly. His tone was mild, yet Raoul sensed steel underlying the silk. A latent something that triggered a wordless, half-understood warning in his mind. "If Christine wishes you to leave, it would be polite to do as she asks."

For a long moment, they locked eyes. Raoul stared back resolutely into that intense gaze, refusing to look down. The air stilled, a tension straining. There was a sense of conflict, a silent, subtle battle of wills beneath the facade of courtesy.

The eyes on his were unwavering.

Finally, Raoul glanced back to her. "Later it is, Chris. Goodbye."

She nodded faintly.

As Raoul turned away, he saw her look up at Erik, dark eyes unreadable, swirling with myriad emotions.

_Later. _Raoul thought firmly, as he heard the door close.

Later he would find out _exactly_ what was going on.

**Erik**

As the door closed, Christine whirled, stalking into the living room to stare out the window, hands clenched together behind her, tendons strained and white. Dark shadows mingled with the ruddy light, as surreal as though he had stepped into a Salvador Dali painting. The dying sun painted a wash of blood-red over her, infusing her skin with a pale, steady glow of crimson, touching her hair with flames. Her back was rigid.

He followed her, concerned over her sudden silence, the wall of fierce tension about her. A breathlessness, a forced silence. "Christine?"

She gave no sign that she had heard him. He touched her shoulder. "Christine?"

"Why did you lie to me?"

Her eyes were fixed on the sun, golden in its expiring blaze. Her voice was perfectly controlled, hard. Coldness masking the hurt. She crossed her arms over her chest; her shoulder taut under his fingers. He felt the blood racing, an angry pulse under her skin. She stared out at the descendant sun, expressionless.

"Christine, I-" Damn it, how was he to explain? How could he tell her that-

That he-

"I'm not a child, Erik!"

She spun to face him, her voice bright with anger. Her eyes blazed, challenging, demanding an answer. Her features were taut, hurt warring with anger. The air around her crackled, her body tight with the emotions rushing through her. The red sunset bathed them in fire, translucent.

"I know you aren't, Christine." he replied, cursing the softness with which he spoke the words. His voice continued irregardless when he willed it to stop.

"I didn't want to see you hurt again." A hum of tension extended throughout him, his blood racing with the force of it. If only she knew the true extent of that statement...

_ If only..._

The anger drained from her with startling abruptness, the bright flare doused with cold. Her body went slack, her eyes sunk to the floor. Erik started at the sudden change, a numb kind of dejection. Hopelessness. _Christine._ A chill traced his spine. _What on earth... _

Was it something he had said?

"Do you know, I think I am anyway." Her whisper was almost inaudible, a pained admittance of disillusion. Her face was remote, eyes looking blindly into nothingness.

Erik went cold. Had he-

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, before his emotions could take a firm hold. He steadied his mind, forced the feelings inside to still. C_ontrol, Erik. Focus on Christine's problems, not yours. _

_Never yours. _

She looked up at him, something too bitter to be called a smile curving her lips, mocking the gentle arch. "I don't know if I can love anymore. I just don't... I tried, but..." She shrugged helplessly. Her eyes were lost on his.

"Christine, you're far too compassionate to ever-" It was a moment before he realized he was holding her. _Damn it, Erik. _He began to draw back.

Her hands clenched in his shirt, effectively stopping him as a sudden flare of temper overtook her. Her dark eyes flashed as she broke across him in a tumult of words, her voice shaking. "Goddammit, Erik, I'm not talking about compassion! I'm talking about _loving _someone, actually _loving_ them! They're two entirely different things, Erik! And I don't know if I can love- do you know how that feels?" she ended in a broken whisper. He felt her tremble as she tried to quell the rising storm.

Her eyes were wide on his. He felt a stirring at the raw pain in them, the pleading in the mahogany depths. _Damn it, Erik, think_. His mind had gone strangely blank, falling into the dark eyes before him.

Dark eyes that were yet so bright with tears.

She looked down and he felt the spell broken. He could breathe again. A wave of regret and guilt broke over him, bitter longing. A cold and shadowed emptiness. The dying sun made a fiery halo of her hair; he stared at the wavering lights within it without seeing them.

_No, Christine. I've never doubted my ability to love._

_ Only to be loved._

**Christine**

She felt suddenly ashamed, seeing the care in the bright eyes above her. She lowered her head to his chest. "Sorry." she whispered after a moment of silence. "I shouldn't have said that." Her hands tightened, her insides hollowing.

_ Can you do anything right, Christine?_

She felt her eyes burn, closed her eyes against the searing heat. Under her ear, she could feel his heart beat, a steady rhythm that allowed her something to cling to, allowing her to keep her fragile composure.

A firm hand tilted her head up. A hot rivulet of moisture seeped out of her eye, leaving a wet streak on her skin, salty, bittersweet. She didn't open her eyes, holding to the comforting touch as she willed the tears to stop. Christine did not want to see the eyes that had been so often warmed with concern, distanced with hurt.

Especially when she would be the cause of it.

"Don't."

She looked up at him despite herself, startled at the quiet warmth of that seraphic voice. His eyes were intent on her, she felt a warmth flooding her at the summer blue that basked her in its light.

There was no shadow in those bright eyes.

Only the same care that had soothed her countless times before. His voice was soft, gentle. Christine closed her eyes at the warm caress of it, sliding over her like rain cleansing, the touch of life on a barren garden. "Don't hold it back, Christine."

Her breath caught. Blood suddenly humming, she looked down once more, resting her head against him. Her insides knotted, twisting and tangling like thorn-crowned ivy over a trellis. Choking her with tendrils of guilt. Christine's throat closed, burning.

He stroked her hair, the motion soothing, somehow forgiving. A sudden shame flooded her._ I can't believe I shouted at him. How could I be so-_ Christine broke off that thought helplessly, clinging to the comfort he offered. A sheltering warmth, a sanctuary at which she could cleanse her self-doubts, her grief.

_ You don't deserve this, you know. _her conscience admonished her. She closed her eyes._ I know, but... _

This was safe.

Flushed, she looked up at him, numb to the sting of tears on her cheeks. "I'm sorry." she repeated. "For asking."

_I'm so sorry._

He shook his head. "It's all right, Christine." His hand stilled. She was suddenly aware of the arms around her, warm, so comforting. A thrill of warmth rushed through her, a touch of light like the sudden flicker of embers to low flames. Christine forgot her tears, momentarily losing herself in the brilliance tracing its way through her body.

_His eyes are so bright._

She drew back unwillingly as an piercing ache overwhelmed her. "Thank you." He loosed her as she pulled away. "Thank you." she repeated softly as she retreated from the room. She glanced back at him once, a lone figure illuminated by glowing red and gold.

His eyes blazed blue.

**Erik**

The sunset was long gone. Erik looked out over a night sky, charcoal-grey and deep blue with the smoky clouds veiling the brightness of the stars, a pale, lighter ring where the moon broke through. Stars were few and far between, motes of light where the soft obscurity of the clouds parted briefly.

_You hoped she might have been able to love you, Erik?_ He traced a finger over the window, following the outline of the moon. _She doubts her ability to love_ anyone, _what makes you think you could change that?  
_

_What makes you think you have the right to?_

He knew he had no right to. He knew that very well. He shouldn't have felt this way, now or ever. People like her weren't meant for him.

_People like her aren't meant for things like you. You know that. Just accept it, Erik._

It was inevitable.

Just accept it.

And yet, as he recalled how her voice had melded with his that night, so fluidly, so flawlessly, as their combined voices ascended and the rain fell softly down... The blaze of glory, the few sweet moments in which he had heard Heaven itself.

_Only a memory, Erik. No matter how much you care for her, do you think she could ever feel the same?_

Yet how his spirit had soared at the sound. The music made sacred by her voice, the voice of an angel. _Christine._

"Erik?"

_Christine._

He turned, willing himself not to show how much she had startled him.

Christine looked worriedly at him. Her hair fell over her shoulders, damp and curling, skin still radiant from the heat of the shower, opalescent under the moon's touch. She stood not five feet away, eyes lit darkly by clouded moonlight. Otherworldly, fantastical. Her mahogany eyes were warm with concern, a warmth that he both craved and feared. A genuine concern that he could not let himself answer. If he did...

"Erik, are you all right?"

If he did...

She reached out to him when he did not respond. "Erik?" Her voice was soft, questioning. Her eyes searched his.

He shied from her touch, evading the eyes so bright on his. "Perfectly, Christine." His voice was level, unemotional.

She was suddenly much too close. _Christine. _Erik evaded her eyes, stepping around her. He needed distraction. Something to take his mind off of the wondering eyes, the warm touch. The care in her voice.

He barely noticed the speed at which he made his way to his music room, intent only on reaching his sanctuary before he was overwhelmed. Before he lost his control.

Erik relaxed somewhat once he was seated at the piano. _Here_ was his music. _Here_ was his control. His art, his safety. Here he was in control.

**Christine**

She looked after the retreating figure, a sharpness biting her at the rejection, the sudden distance of his voice.

_Was it something I said?_ Christine ran a hand over the back of a chair absently. Her hand tightened._ Did I do something wrong?_

Had she somehow hurt him despite herself?

_Don't be such an egoist, Christine. It may not be about you at all._

What then? What had caused that chill, that distance? Why had he closed himself off from her like that?

As though he were almost afraid of something._ But what?_

Christine heard the faint sound of the piano, the discord, the chaos he had masked from her so clear in the notes as they pounded through the night. A terrible and violent beauty. She made her way down the hall, drawn to the sound, a tightness in her chest. _Why, Erik?  
_

_What are you hiding from?_

She paused in the shadows outside the door.

He was lost to the world, a lone figure lit by moonlight that he did not feel, could not see. Lost within himself, succumbing himself to the music, a wall to keep all else out. His eyes were closed, lips tight. Intent on something she could not understand.

She hesitated. If she entered his sanctuary now, of all times, would she be trespassing? If she broke the discordant melody, would he be angry? He had already made it clear that he did not want to speak with her, with anyone, tonight. Should she disregard that?

A hollow chasm opened inside of her. _No, Christine. Give him his privacy. Don't force your company on him when he wants to be alone._

She remembered the night her voice had joined his, a soaring, sublime purity. The thrill of seraphic glory that had enflamed her and kindled his eyes to incandescence.

_Not tonight, Christine. _

_Not tonight. _The thought was a little wistful as she watched him from the shadows. The song faded, his eyes clearing somewhat. She watched as he rubbed his wrist meditatively, eyes faraway. The sudden silence closed in around her, oppressive, stifling. She turned away, slipping silently down the hall to her own room.

_Not tonight._


	19. Adamantine

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, only the storyline and unaffiliated characters.**

**Thank you for all of the fantastic reviews and have a happy holiday. **

**Lee**

**

* * *

**

**Adamantine**

**Christine**

Her heart beat steadily, her skin still flushed with the late sunlight as she made her way up the stairs. Warm content, a pleasant, mild weariness after an evening jog.

The blast of the air conditioning was a welcome, as it ruffled her hair and brushed along her skin. Christine unlocked the door, expecting to hear the familiar sounds of the piano, perhaps a voice raised in song, clarion, as it wound through the apartment.

Nothing. Christine shed her shoes and made her way further into the house, uneasy in the sudden stillness of the air. Shadows lay like a winter shroud through the hallway, a strange heaviness. "Erik?" she called.

There was no answer. Her nerves hummed, she forced herself to relax. _It's probably nothing, Christine. Maybe he's asleep._

Christine's head whipped around at a faint sound, something like a hiss of pain, the merest thread of a sound. She went deeper into the apartment, inexplicably drawn, an odd sense of surreality upon her. It was as though some watching presence held itself in stillness, motionless, breathless as it waited.

The door to Erik's room stood partway open, a break in the smooth line of the wall as she walked toward it.

Christine hesitated on the threshold. She had never entered here before. She did not know what lay beyond. Her resolution wavered.

A soft, sharp intake of breath decided her. She stepped over the threshold, the door opening soundlessly before her. Christine felt her breath catch and freeze.

She did not notice the room. She did not notice the darkness.

All she saw was the knife in his hand and the blood on his wrist, a red flowering against his skin like a rivulet of some bloodied waters, some slaughter-wreaked sea. Her heart turned over, throat closing. Her thoughts were a disbelieving echo, desiring nothing more than to deny what was before her, but unable to refute the evidence of her eyes. _Erik- how could you? How could you?  
_

_Why?_

"Erik?" Her voice came out an incredulous whisper, a pale and powerless reflection of the chaos within her. It was only the merest outskirts of the dark tempest within.

His head whipped up. She saw the blaze of self-loathing in his over-bright eyes, turned molten blue and pale. She saw that look freeze over into ice, the blue crystalline and somehow bleached, the depth of color diffused into clear brilliance like a winter sky. Into the remote shadows he had retreated to once before, the distant, intangible world he fled to to escape reality. From that place she had drawn him back with her song...

...Only to find this. To find that she had not helped or healed him at all. That she had done nothing and his darkness still remained.

She found herself beside him, grabbing the knife that gleamed with his red blood from his nerveless fingers, casting it aside. He seemed in shock, unable to react to the sudden intrusion and unwilling to acknowledge her transgression. Christine found herself pulling him, more by force of the adrenaline, the hot fear, that pulsed through her, than anything else, down the hall to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Numbly, almost childlike, he allowed her to. The fading sunlight filled the apartment with whispering shadows, a strangely darkening world. A red sunset painted a wash of bloodied light over the walls and their skin, a living flame licking at them. It pounded through her mind like an echo of her own fears.

He had not spoken. Had not given any kind of answer. It seemed that he could not quite credit the reality, sought to escape it still, as she took his wrist, the beaded blood smearing over her fingers like a ghastly blush as she spread the antiseptic. Her hands shook as they brushed the rough ridges of old scars. Her stomach churned at the sight, a physical jolt going through her body at the sight, a terrible fear and melancholy._ How could someone do this to themself?_

Her hands shook as she wrapped his wrist in gauze, her insides tightening at the crisscross of older cuts. "How could you do this to yourself, Erik- _why!_" Christine's voice rushed out of her, uncontrollable, tumbling like water falling over a cliff, ricocheting over rock, but inevitable and fast-flowing nonetheless. "Why did you do this, Erik; why did you hurt yourself!" Her fingers tightened on his, she saw him flinch, eyes looking blankly into nothingness. Inside of her, all was a roaring chaos, a deadly howling of wind and storm that left ruin in its wake._ How could I not have noticed this? Have I been that self-centered?_ Darkness rushed through her mind, a cold fear. How long has this been going on? Her spirit cried out in the face of his self-inflicted scars. That the man who had so often cared for her had hurt himself thus. The man who had tried to heal her scars had inflicted them upon himself.

_Why didn't you let me help you? Why this, Erik, why? _

"Why, Erik?" her voice broke. She was dimly aware that she was shaking. God, but this terrified her. How deeply had his darkness taken hold of him? How far did the hurt go? Why couldn't she seem to get through to him? What if she couldn't help him- what if he never answered her? What if he-

_Why, in God's name, won't you talk to me, Erik? What pain are you trying to purge? _Christine grabbed his shoulders. "Talk to me, Erik! What's wrong?"_ Don't hide from me! For the love of God, Erik_. "Please-!"

He looked down at her suddenly at the word, eyes seeming to focus and sharpen, brilliant. And cold. She heard the shudder of his breath before he spoke, felt him tense under her hands. Christine found that she couldn't- wouldn't let go. And when he did speak, his voice was perfectly controlled. A complete match to the complete chill in his sky colored eyes. "I thought, when you first came here, that I asked you to respect my privacy, Miss Daae."

She noted the use of her surname, an attempt to force a distance between them, and disregarded it. "I don't think privacy has any part in this conversation, Erik." she retorted, not releasing him.

He raised an eyebrow coolly, the beautiful voice melodic, apparently ignorant to the way her hands were taut and shaking. "No? Perhaps you wish to know everything, then? To uncover every secret you can find? Pandora would have had an apt pupil in you." His voice breathed scorn, lashing out at her with cold contempt.

"You forget," Christine hoped that her voice was steadier than her pulse, "that Pandora also released Hope into the world."

She had seen his eyes warm with care, brilliant with music, distant with memories, but never this. Now they flared with hot anger, disdaining pride. Contempt, for what he considered her naive reply." Are you really this childish, Miss Daae?"

The words sparked an anger Christine did not know she had. Her hand moved of its own volition-

-to strike the exposed left side of his face.

Christine froze as her eyes followed the descent of the white half-mask, a bird shot out of the sky and now dead in descent to the cold earth. It clattered to the floor to lay in a streak of crinsomed light. Her mind went still, the panicked ripples subsiding into a cold stillness.

Then she looked up again- into blazing eyes in which she saw an endless betrayal that wrenched her heart. _Erik-_

She turned cold._ Erik, I didn't-_

His right hand flew up to his face, cutting off her brief glimpse. She was immobilized as his voice lashed out at her, beautiful and terrible. "Damn you." he hissed.

The softness of his voice cut her more than if he had shouted at her. Words that shook with hopeless anger and helpless pain. Cold dread shivered her, she wavered in the face of that beautiful, broken voice. The full implications of her unintended betrayal struck her.

_No- Oh no-_

"Erik, I didn't mean to-!" she reached out to him as he backed away from her and faded into the ruddied shadows. His eyes glowed with all his words had not said, and everything that his tone had. Her breath caught. There was more in that in that look- something more than had touched the surface of her comprehension. _Erik._ She started after him.

But he was gone.

**Erik**

The look on her face! The shock that transformed her features into a blank statue as his mask hit the floor and cold reality had come upon him as it lay in the red light.

His heart fell with it.

It looked almost sinister, but what its removal had revealed was infinitely worse. What the smooth and perfect surface had covered lay bared in all its horror and tragedy. And she looked, wide-eyed and wordless, upon the true face of the man she had tried to save.

He stared at her for a long moment, wordless. His hand now covered that mockery of a face that was the right side of his features.

But it was too late. She had seen. And now she looked at him in pure astonishment, her already pale skin whitening. An odd shiver passed through him at the sudden, deathlike translucence of her skin, the bright gleam of- fear- in her eyes.

What else but fear, as she saw the reality behind the mask?

Acid ate away at him, a sharp thrust like a knife through him. Sparking a burning flame, an wildfire that threatened to become a holocaust. The fire seared him, the smoke choking him.

"Damn you." he forced out. _Damn your curiosity. Damn you for acting like you cared. Damn you for making me care what you think of me._

_ For making me trust you._ He retreated from her, the cold and the dark all around him, a roaring tempest in his ears. How could she do that? Why had she done that?

_Why, Christine?  
_

_Why?_

Why had she deliberately torn the mask from his face?

He heard her voice behind him. "Erik-"

He forced himself to close off the sound, willing himself to ignore whatever else she had said. Had she not broken his faith, abused his trust and torn his last defenses from him?

The door was locked behind him now, as his hands moved over the piano keys with a life of their own. A life of darkness, of burning anger and betrayal. Rejection. The requiem of a life of lonely solitude. A lament for the look in her eyes as she saw his face. For the loss of what could never have been his. His hopes fell around him in flames, laying bare the charred skeletons of broken dreams. Delusions shattered like a splintered mirror, a mirror that reflected still the hopeless love, burning still. A love not even this stark disillusion could destroy.

No. The greatest tragedy in this lay not in what she had seen- but what he still felt. Impossibly, helplessly, he loved her still.

The dream of the sea and the shore descended upon him once more, a mockery of what could never be. It taunted him with her mahogany eyes, lit with warmth and tenderness, the body so trusting against his. A mane of auburn against his throat and skin pale as alabaster, soft as silk. Slender fingers that caressed his skin with loving surety. Eyes that glowed on his like moonlight on the sea. Like Venus emerged from the waves, Astraea descended from the heavens. It scorned him with the genuine concern on her face, the care of a young woman who saw past the flesh. A love completely beyond his reach. A mortal angel that could never be his.

_Christine, Christine. _Her name was almost on his lips, the pure, precise syllables hovering, before he stopped himself.

_Why?_

His heart cried out, bitterness and betrayal threatening to drown him. It was an oblivion he would almost welcome, if only he did not have to see those startled eyes. If only he did not have to see the horror on her face.

_Why!_

**Christine**

The mask was warm in her hands as she picked it up gingerly, ruddied in the fading light. Blank, expressionless, emotionless. Inhuman. So utterly unlike what it had concealed. The glimpse of his face she had gotten hovered before her eyes. The twisted, ravaged flesh, a tragedy, a mockery of the dark beauty of the left side of his face. The raised scars, the sunken features, thin skin chapped and almost translucent.

And his eyes.

The depthless pain, the suffering of millennia and multitudes coalesced into a single point of light, in them sparked an answering anguish in her. As though she had stabbed him, plunged a knife into him and twisted. The blue eyes so bright with agony, summer skies turned to stormy seas. Christine felt sick at the raw rejection of those eyes, a plea that this _could not_ be real. That she had not betrayed him in such a way; that she had not broken his trust and spurned all that he had done for her.

_ Those pleading eyes._

Christine's fingers tightened on the white half-mask. _Erik, Erik, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, it was a mistake. I wish I hadn't done that._

_ I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to hurt you. _

A strange half-smile twisted her lips, though nothing she felt should have produced something so joyful as a smile. _It doesn't matter to me, Erik, don't you realize that? After all you've done for me, it doesn't matter. _

_It never mattered. _He had always been there to comfort her, unfailingly, and had asked for nothing in return. He had inspired her voice, made her spirit soar through his music. How many times had she lain sleepless in the night to be eased by his melody? How many times had he held her when the pain grew too much?

How could she care about a malformation of the flesh when the soul behind it transcended any description of beauty she might give? How, after he had sheltered and held her, could she fail to see him as anything other than a man? Her mentor, her anodyne.

The piano resounded through her, shaking her even through the closed door. Christine knocked, made a tentative attempt to open the door.

It was locked.

Anger, a bitter self-hatred pounded through the night, unconquerable as wildfire. Christine heard it, felt it moving through her soul, searing with its burning clarity, leaving a raw and bleeding hopelessness in its wake, as though Eden had been devastated, burnt to barren ash. It did not merely touched her, but held her fast within its shadows, pulling her downward into the darkness of his self-loathing, his great secret.

She hesitated. _I can't go in there.  
_

_And yet I can't leave things like this. I have to explain- I have to tell him that... _

_That I'm sorry. _That she hadn't meant to break his trust. And that... _That it doesn't matter._ That his face held no horror for her and that she did not want to watch him descend into darkness anymore.

Christine's hand wavered as she laid down the note in front of the door. _Will he listen? Will I be able to help him at all? _

_Or is there nothing I can do?  
_

_No. _Christine shook her head. She could salvage this.

She had to.

_May we talk?_

_Christine_

She shivered as she left it, unsure even now, pausing to look back at it over her shoulder, a small patch of white in the shadows. _What am I doing?_ What strange chain of events was she setting in motion? Would her tenuous grasp over the situation spiral out of control, a descent into storm and flame? Would she catalyze some kind of destruction, spark a fire that threatened to consume them both?

What would this bring?

**Erik**

He heard her at the door.

He heard her and ignored her. What could she want? What further damage could she deal him if he allowed her near him once more? What new torment would she have if he let her in?

How could she expect him to answer, how could she expect him to trust her still? Didn't she realize the magnitude of what she had done?

What did she hope to accomplish with her fragile, foolish naiveté?

Eventually, the knocking subsided. And, for some reason, the chasm in him gaped wider at that knowledge. He let the dark music overcome him, erasing, for a time, the reality he was trapped in. Reality ceased for him, fading into intangibility as he immersed himself in the anesthesia of the music. Erik did not know how long his mind lay in surreal numbness. Time had ceased to be of any importance.

Eventually, he paused in his playing. The air in his music room was heavy, smoldering. The darkness after the flames ceased to blaze.

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

She was gone.

He opened the door cautiously, seeing no sign of her. The hall was barren, empty of any presence save his own. A tomb, a passageway to the netherworld. As still as the river Styx, and as impossible for him to cross now.

A flash of white caught his eye. Erik looked down.

Picking up the paper, he scanned it. A flare of anger sparked from the simple words. The arrogance! Did she think that he would come back to her after what she had done?

No.

_No._ The paper crumpled under his fingers.

She would come to _him._


	20. Aestus

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.  
**

**Note I- 'Aestus,' can be translated from Latin as both 'passion' and 'heat'.**

**Thank you for all of the the great response to the previous chapter. I hope the next few chapters will answer your questions.**

**Lee **

**

* * *

**

**Aestus**

** Christine**

It was the sound of music that drew her from dreams. The sound that had so often eased her mind into sleep now woke it with a slow burning. It was a siren call she could not evade or resist any more than she could resist the comfort he had offered. It wound around her in the darkness, in the shadows before her eyes, in the moonlight straying through her window, in the very air she breathed, a glowing, intangible trail of beauty.

He was calling to her. Wordlessly, a subtle pull on her mind and soul that only his music seemed capable of. A warmth and a need that only he had sparked. Christine felt herself being drawn and knew the futility of resisting. Even if she had wanted to, she could no more ignore the summons of his music than the pain in his eyes.

And.. if he were playing to her, perhaps this time she could answer.

Perhaps this time she might succeed in breaking his darkness.

The hallway was dark, even the faint starlight admitted by the skylights did little to dispel the shadows. They wound all around her, echoing the movements of the music. Whispering, rippling at her feet, over the mask in her hand. Christine's breath caught as they guided her to him._ Erik._ She heard his voice, now, as she came nearer.

_"Stranger than you dreamt it,  
_

_can you even dare to look _

_or bear to think of me?"_

His voice was lilting, singsong, as she paced silently down the hallway toward him. Dimly, she could see him through the half-open door, his back to her. His voice was deliberate as it reached for her, almost taunting, though whether it was for her or for himself, she did not know.

He knew she was there.

And beneath the anger, held by the most delicate of controls, there was a bitter hatred. Not for her, but for himself. For the ruin of his face and the unfairness of the God that had given it to him.

_Can you even dare to look? _Christine's heart tightened. _My God. What does he think of himself? What kind of monster does he believe himself to be?  
_

_Does he truly think I could fear him?_

_"This loathsome gargoyle who burns in hell,  
_

_but secretly yearns for heaven.  
_

_Secretly, secretly... _

_Christine..."_

Her heart burned at the spite with which he referred to himself, and the bitter longing with which he spoke her name. A broken dream of acceptance.

_Do you dream of Heaven, Erik?_ Christine paused on the threshold, uncertain, even now. The figure at the piano did not so much as look at her, caught up within himself. A lone man illuminated by moonlight, surreal. Christine half-expected him to evanesce into the night, leaving behind only the echo of his voice. Only the memory of an all-consuming torment. _Erik. Why won't you let me help you? I promised to be your Angel, and- I know I've hurt you.  
_

_But... won't you let me help you? _There was a moment of silence in which the softness of her name seemed to hang in the air. She took a hesitant step forward, only to be stopped by his voice. Rising as though he meant to reassure her- or himself. Of what, she couldn't decide.

_"Fear can turn to trust,  
_

_you'll learn to see-  
_

_to find the man_

_ behind the monster-"_

A note of hope, almost of pleading, had entered his voice. A wistful, pained longing, a weakness she was sure he had not intended her to hear, a dream he had once clung to. A fracture in his walls whose presence he had denied even to himself. He reached out to her with his voice and she found herself moving forward once more in response to that plea. It pulled at her, drawing her to him by sound and soul.

Even as his voice roughened in reference to himself, she continued to him. His voice had sparked a flame that was now rising.

_"- this repulsive carcass who seems a beast,  
_

_but secretly dreams of beauty.  
_

_Secretly, secretly..._

... Oh, Christine."

As his voice fell, soft, so soft, she found herself beside him. The cold longing, the dark and lonely denial of his song hung between them. A voicing of all that he had dreamed of and aspired to, but had never allowed himself. A wish that had been silent and hidden from the world. The bitter disillusion he had found in place of the hope he had sought as he realized just what an unforgiving place the world was. It was both the barrier that rose between them and the tie that bound them. With these next moments, she could bridge the chasm she had created between them... or she could tear it yet further apart.

The chasm she had created... Christine felt her throat tighten, and realized just how much he had trusted her. That he cared for her and she had hurt him, however unintentionally. She had wounded him, scarred whatever trust he had for her and now there was hopelessness in his voice.

And she had brought it to him. She had hurt the man who had held her and comforted her. This man, who had kept himself to the shadows in his own fear, leaving his self-loathing to consume him.

Shadows she had tried to draw him out of whether he called for her or not.

He had called for her now. He had called-

-and in her name, she heard pain.

He did not look at her. She saw only the left side of his face, surreal by moonlight, determinedly focused straight ahead, eyes intent in the shadows. His features were drawn tightly, eyes a beacon in the darkness. The strange mysticism of the room only emphasized the hum of dark tension surrounding him. Christine hesitated in that silence, unsure of what to say. The moment stretched, the air heavy and still, like the tense heaviness of the calm before the storm.

His voice split the silence and in it she heard the cry of a wounded thing, broken and bleeding. "Are you proud of yourself, Christine?" He asked, not looking at her. For all the softness of his voice, there was a bitter acidity in it as he lashed out at her. And, as she had learned, the voice that could comfort her could also cut her. "For discovering my great secret?" He held out a hand; he still had not looked at her.

"Erik, I didn't mean to-"

His voice overrode hers "If you've satisfied your damnable _curiosity_, I would like my mask back."

_So you can hide from me again?_ The anger in his voice gave rise to a flutter of tension inside of her. It was suppressed by the murmur that had moved her that night when the rain and the lightning were all around them. _Go._ It pressed her. _Go._ Christine paused, steeled herself.

Moving that one step closer, she placed her hand in his. It was warm, hot with the anger that ran through his veins. "Erik-" She had no idea what she was going to say, but she could not leave him with that darkness. She had made a promise, to him and to herself.

He rose in one fluid motion, quick as thought.

The mask fell to the floor unheeded this time. She found herself pulled against him with the sudden force of the fire she had provoked, a flare of emotion that jumped through her as well, like an arc of lightning. The length of his arm along her spine was unyielding, hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Christine looked up into eyes that were blazing with a ferocity that should have chilled her. Her hands splayed over his chest; she could feel the hot pulse of anger beneath, a rapid, violent beating. A shock raced up her spine at the closeness, a sudden explosion of adrenaline as she was drawn into the fiery, seething aura around him, roiling over and through her like a turbulent sea. She could feel the heat of his body, pressed against hers, she could feel his every breath against her skin.

He gestured with his free hand, the other tight against her, holding her to him. His voice was fierce, venomous. "Is this what you wanted to see, Christine? Than look!"

She could see the translucent skin, mottled and scarred as though by some horrific fire. The twisted flesh, reddened and ravaged over the right side of his face, a stark contrast to the dark magnetism of the left side. The features were oddly distorted, a fine network of veins visible through the thin skin and the dry ridges of white scars. And just underneath, the sharp planes of bone, starkly prominent, almost skeletal. She could see it.

But she did not look. She did not need to.

It was him.

She gazed back steadily into the smoldering eyes. "Look, damn you." he hissed, voice laced with an anger that threatened to sear her as it passed through her spirit.

She was suddenly struck by the dark majesty of him, an untamed, almost tangible potency that she felt even now. The raw grace and the power that came upon him, in this room above all.

And yet- and yet beneath it, all the sadness of the world. A painful solitude soothed only by the cold comfort of pride and the dreaming opiate of music. His eyes were striking, blazing on hers, a flaring corona. She was shaking- or he was, she didn't know. The heat of his anger pressed in around her, emanating from the heart that beat so wildly under her hand and the eyes so bright as they looked into hers.

"Erik," she began softly, "calm down." Inwardly, she wondered at how still she felt. How perfectly clear her mind, how perfectly unafraid.

No. It was not fear that shivered her, shook them both. It was something else. "Let's talk about this reasonably." She looked back at him steadily. _Listen to me, Erik._

He threw her own phrasing back at her with acidic scorn. "I don't think_ reason_ has any part in this conversation, Christine." His voice was honed to biting perfection. Christine flinched at the sting in his voice, but would not let herself be deterred.

It was him.

**Erik**

"Erik, I never meant to-" she started again. He caught a tremor in her voice, in the body so fragile against his. Something bordering on desperation in her eyes. He hated himself at that moment, for, even now, with her mahogany eyes so wide on his, he was acutely aware of her slender hands over his heart, the press of her slim body against his, the heavy fall of hair over her back that brushed his arm. Even now, he had to resist the urge to stroke the stray chestnut tendrils back from where they tumbled over her face, to wipe away the unsurety in her eyes.

_You_ are _weak, Erik._ To think that the feel of her heart racing, her breath shaking, could drive him to the edge of his control even after all she had done to him.

To think that, even now, all he wanted was to hold her closer.

He cast her from him. _Control, Erik._ "Enough, Christine." he cut her off. Erik heard his own voice rough with scorn, the bitterness he had so often lavished upon himself turned on her in an effort to drive her away. He felt a twinge of guilt at the harshness with which he spoke, suppressed it. This was as much for her protection as his. "You are afraid- then go." _Before something happens that we'll both regret._ "I am not holding you here. I have never made you do anything against your will, and I do not intend to start now."_ I will never force you. I will never hurt you. _

_No matter what you've done to me._ He could not harm her.

Her eyes were brilliant in the soft light of the night. He wished she would look away.

But no. Those luminescent eyes looked straight into his, and touched his spirit. Those mahogany eyes that brushed soul to soul, a selfless offering of compassion. It was in that single look that he could almost touch the cradling ocean of emotion, feel her cleansing acceptance. Her breath stilled, autumnal eyes steady, asking and giving, forgiveness and trust.

All without a single word or caress.

"I know." she whispered.

**Christine**

It was cold, her sudden freedom, in the absence of his touch. Without the beat of his heart under her hands, the arms that held her to him in anger and desperation.

His eyes held a startling clarity, ablaze with an unvoiced longing, bright as the descendant sun over the sea as it crowned the waves in flame. In his words she heard the self-denial of a man who had relinquished all hope and shrouded himself in night. Had held himself to the shadows and shrunk from the touch of the sun with fierce resentment and bitter longing. It was anger and it was despair and yet it was neither.

It was pain.

She turned away from the agony before her, searching for words. Her eyes fell upon the score, flickering over the lines. The words seemed to waver in the faint moonlight, dancing over the page like weaving candlelight in the shadows.

_ Stranger than you dreamt it... can you even dare to look?_ Her breath caught at the hopeless loathing in the words. Could he himself even look upon what he most feared and despised? She glanced at the mirrors, the curves of fabric deep red but where the moonlight painted them with crimson. Did he perhaps try to blind himself to it?

Or was it all that he saw?

_... Christine... Fear can turn to love._

She froze. Her heart pounded once, breath stopping. The air stilled and pressed in around her, the heavens halting their wheeling overhead. The candles guttered, flames tilting.

_Fear can turn to love._

The moonlight seemed suddenly blazing as her eyes turned inward. It all rushed in on her now, the look in his eyes, the subtle language of tone and movement. The warmth of his voice, the care with which he had held her. All of the little nuances she had missed, every sign that should have alerted her that she had disregarded. Her body hummed with the force of emotions running through her now, the strength of memories. She was acutely aware of him behind her, a guardian presence, as he had ever been. She was aware of his eyes upon her, a wordless, helpless fear that she did not even have to see, but that washed over her in a crashing wave from behind.

The times he had wiped away her tears, the music in the night. The alternate caress and coolness of his voice, his sudden withdrawals from her. The way his eyes would flicker with shadows, a veil over the sky colored brightness.

And... Christine drew in a shuddering breath. The warmth he had kindled in her in return. The comfort of the brilliant eyes as they looked so reassuringly into hers. The safety she felt around him, the peace within the circle of his arms, the elusive magnetism that drew her to him. The depth with which he touched her, with song and gaze, word and embrace. The sheer longing she had had to touch him, to heal him. A longing that she still had. That, she now realized, threatened to shatter her if it went unanswered.

_Angel...  
_

_How did I miss this?_

She turned, her eyes flew up to his in wordless question. _Why didn't you tell me?_

He looked at her almost defiantly. When he spoke, his voice was soft, dying slowly into silence.

"Is it so terrible, Christine?" There was a bitter pain in the words, in the bleak light of his eyes. He stood before her, at last completely unmasked.

And behind his masquerade, she found a man with broken hopes and shattered dreams. Who had kept from her a hopeless, helpless love, so convinced of his own inhumanity and her subsequent rejection.

Christine was speechless.

**Erik**

She knew.

He felt all of his hopes rise to the surface, tried desperately to force them back to the shadows where they belonged. In a moment, he had handed her a greater weapon with which to harm him, had himself pulled away a mask that covered something infinitely more powerful than a face. And now he stood bared before her. Their illusions, their games of make-believe, were at an end and now reality was upon them both.

In a moment, she could break him. Her mahogany eyes were wide on his, pleading for an answer. What to tell her, what to say, he didn't know. What could he say in this moment that would salvage this? What could he tell her, what answers could he give?

There was nothing he could do. She held the answers. His heart was in her keeping; in this, he was powerless. He felt the distance between them, a slender abyss that nevertheless could swallow him if he stepped too near the edge. Close enough to reach out and touch, if only he could. But no.

He could not reach out and watch her flinch away. He could not risk the step toward the abyss and the long, dark fall that was sure to follow. It was up to her to span the distance or increase it. He was powerless.

Helpless.

"Is it so terrible, Christine?" he asked at last.

She did not answer.

* * *

**The first real cliffhanger! Very cruel of me, yes, but a chance to get some very emotional, inspirational reviews. **

**(Inspirational reviews do not include threats of bodily harm or laptop abduction) :)  
**

**Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it enough to review. **

**cookies, hugs, et cetera **

** Lee  
**


	21. Alight

**Disclaimer: Still applies. I do not own POTO, or the song "Cry" by James Blunt; only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters**

**Wow. Thank you for the fantastic response on the last chapter- you guys are wonderful and deserve all the chocolate, cookies, etc. I could ever hand out- and more!**

**Also, thank you for your patience. I realize I am posting a bit late. Unfortunately, exams are sneaking ever closer and I was doing volunteer work at a farm over the weekend. It was incredible and I enjoyed it beyond belief. Two of the goats went into labor and guess who got to play mama for the day :) ? All in all, a very lovely- if busy- weekend. Again, thank you all for being patient with me. Hopefully this will make it up to you. **

**cookies, hugs, etc. **

**Lee**

* * *

**Alight**

**Christine**

She closed her eyes in the sudden stillness of the night, feeling the strange moonlit currents moving within her, pulsing with her breathing. They moved in synchrony, their breathing, the weaving waves inside of her.

The voice within pressed upon her again. It recalled the first night she had heard him sing- and done nothing. The yearning and fulfillment as she listened to the music in the night. The reassurance, the content she had found in the circle of his arms. The time it had moved her to bring him back from the ice and the shadows. When their voices had soared in an ascension of pure beauty. The fear she had felt as she saw his bloodied wrist and frozen eyes.

She had not listened- not fully. She had never fully listened to the presence that urged her to him, never completely comprehended what it had been trying to tell her. She had never quite understood the purpose it gave her.

This time... this time she was listening.

Christine opened her eyes to look into ones as lost as hers had been, a tempestual maelstrom, brilliant and blazing, shivering her like a gale through a willow grove. He held himself still, so still, as though a single motion would shatter the fragility of the moment and take her from him forever, Sadb to his Finn, stolen not by any dark sorcerer, but the greater magician of fear.

Yet it was not her own fear she felt in the silence, only his. The air was troubled by_ his _fears. She looked up at him. His breathing gave the lie to the calm, statuesque stillness of his face, tremoring, ragged. Her heart went out to him. _Erik._

Christine stepped toward him.

This time she was listening.

**Erik**

He held himself in place as she came toward him, heart racing like wildfire through dry brush, adrenaline nearly consuming his senses. The breath caught and tore in his throat. Her mahogany eyes were intent on his, brilliant. There was no distaste, no rejection in them. He did not know the name for the way the moonlight struck those autumnal, endless eyes.

He actually felt himself freeze as her arms slipped around him, a slim young woman that pressed herself against him and lay her head over his heart. His arms hung limp at his sides, numbed by the warm and slender body, the light that seemed to emanate from her where the moonlight struck her skin, blinding and bewitching as any Sahara mirage.

The lights on her coppery hair wavered as she looked up at him. Her eyes were endless, questioning. It was the look of a homeward traveler, turning her eyes to some guiding light.

It was the look of faith.

"Why did you run from me?" she asked, eyes searching his. Her voice was soft, a gentle query, the wondering caress of a light wind. This was the last thing he had expected to hear. The pearlescent gleam of moonlight upon her face made him wonder exactly what embraced him. Was she a dream, to fade away with the coming of morning? Was this no more than an illusion and she no more than a night-bound angel to evanesce in the light of dawn?

He sensed her reaching out to him, to find the man she had drawn back from the shadows. It was a tenuous bridge she built between them, a weaving and entwining of the fabric of their souls.

It was more than he deserved. He turned the ravaged side of his face from her, suddenly unable to bear the idea of her eyes upon it. "Didn't you see my face, Christine?" Disbelieving bitterness rose against her warmth, a sickening poison invading his body and soul.

Her next words caught him completely off guard.

"Yes, and?"

He blinked at the disregard; started when he felt her fingers trace his jawline, turning his face back fully to hers. Her hand lingered for a moment before it fell to his chest in what seemed a cascading trail of glowing light. "Do you think my father was particularly stunning as he lay dying?" she asked. Her slim hand tightened, knuckles pressing against his skin through the fabric. Her eyes were firm on his; Erik had seen that look in her eyes before. Conviction. A fierce determination overlaid her voice. "Do you think that it made me love him any less, whether he was or not?'

'It's not your face that worries me, Erik." she continued more softly. Christine pulled back his sleeve to expose the bandaged wrist, her touch tender, cradling. Her head fell back against his chest, her voice fell. "It's this. I don't understand why."

"I wouldn't expect you to." His voice came out a little colder then he had intended, but still, how could he expect her to understand, much less empathize? Christine had never had the misfortune of living her life with half a face.

Her eyes lit with something like anger, stormy. "Try me." He heard challenge behind her words.

He shrugged, repressing the memories. His words were short, unadorned. Time had not diminished the sting of the memories and he was reluctant to recall them. "I was born like this. I never knew my parents, Christine. I... was told that they couldn't afford to keep me... but I doubt that was the case." His breath caught. "People were- and are- afraid of me. My own fiancée... What do you think I feel like, Christine, after another day of fear and shame? After one more day when I am forced to realize that I am anathema?"

_One more day when I must hide from the world?_

He continued, a tremor underlying his voice. "I could never control what lies beneath the mask. This, this I could..."

_This way... only I could harm myself._

**Christine**

_"My own fiancee..."_

The woman in the photo, Christine realized. An emptiness filled her as she remembered the blithe and brilliant embrace._ "My own fiancee..." _

Had she left him because of his face? It certainly explained his reaction after she had accidentally knocked off the mask. But was it possible for a woman who loved a man so clearly, so deeply, to leave him for the sake of his appearance? Was it possible for a woman to break the love of that man into such dark bitterness?

Apparently it was. Or at least it was to him. She recalled the sudden remote light in his eyes the day she had caught him looking at the photograph, his distance with her when she inquired about it. The seraphic voice drained of any emotion as he laid the photograph facedown.

Nadir's words came back to her._ Life has not dealt gently with Erik, Christine._

_ No. _Christine thought as she looked up into the brilliant eyes, lit with a painful kind of hope, a strange clarity. Her hold on him tightened involuntarily. _No, it hasn't._

"Christine," he began haltingly. She had no idea what he meant to say, but it didn't matter.

She leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

It was a light touch, chaste, but it was enough to set her aglow, a thrill racing up her spine, warmth flooding her body like the healing heat of fire to the cold traveler. There was a sweet, nostalgic taste to it, something that recalled both summer and sea. At first he was still under her touch, seeming more in shock than anything else. Then his arms came around her, one hand tangling in her hair and cradling her the back of her head. Christine found an inexpressible longing in their touch, a desire and a comfort found with every sweet breath. Her fingers strayed to the hair at the nape of his neck, caressing, twining through the dark strands, soft as night. Light seemed to rush through her body, the golden infusion of brilliance let in by petals opening under the sun. Where their bodies touched, there was fire, a questing flame as she pressed herself closer to him, intoxicated by the rush of their combined pulse, craving, needing it beyond reason. The heat of summer was upon her, a warm promise hanging in the air amidst flickering fireflies and the humid, heavy warmth of the storm.

When she pulled back, she saw his eyes shimmer briefly. They blazed like midsummer, wondering, awed. The light of hope gleamed in them now, and something deeper, something that it astounded her to see. She basked in the radiance of it, the light beyond the broken darkness. "I don't see anything to be ashamed of, Erik." She trailed a hand down what he would have called the marred side of his face. He flinched and she snatched her hand back with a trace of embarrassment. Had she made him uncomfortable with that caress?

"Sorry-"

He caught her hand. "No. No, Christine, it's all right." He spoke her name in what bordered on reverence, looking down at her in amazement.

"Oh." The aftereffects of their embrace made her feel slightly lightheaded. "In that case." She reached up and traced his brows, then her hands slid down to cup his face and she kissed him again. The touch was dizzying, exhilarating, and yet they had barely brushed the borders of this discovery. The sun had barely cleared the horizon and they hovered on the brink of its rays.

But it was enough that she finally had this.

It was enough to know that she could begin to love and be loved again.

**Erik**

"Christine," he began. He had no idea what to say to her, but the sound of her name was a sweet melody he could not refrain from speaking.

Her eyes flickered up to his and he lost himself as she kissed him. The blood sang through his veins, a reverence overtaking him at her gentle touch. He could feel her heart beating against his, a thrilling melody that raced beneath the fair skin. All of the senses had been heightened, and yet he was only aware of her, the scent of some flame-crowned apple grove in her hair, the taste of ripe autumn on her lips, rich and full as honey. There was an innocence in the way she held him, and such a comfort, a safety and a sanctity, as though he were in the cathedral of some kinder God, the high, vaulted ceilings an echo of celestial majesty, stained glass windows evocative, incandescent with light. It evoked, even as it sated, a yearning stronger yet.

He held her closer and deepened the touch.

A rush of gratitude, something akin to awe, overtook him as she replied in kind, her body molding almost instinctively to his. Erik could feel music stirring in him, a swelling crescendo of light and sound, epitomized where they they touched. He could scarce believe the moment, but there she was, clinging to him as though she meant to never let go, almost desperately, as though this were all that mattered, what she craved above all else. It was a desire and a longing equal to his own, sheer need that bound them under the moonlight in his sanctum.

His darkness fell from him and he surrendered to the rapture of their embrace. The sea and the shore rose around him again, a fantastical world that was silent but for them. Under the blazing starlight, the velvet sky, he found a brilliant rhapsody and a rekindled hope, growing in synchrony with the beat of wave and heart.

And, all too soon, she drew back. The remnants of that kiss lingered still, a remembrance of flames burning bright, now faded to glowing embers.

There was a strange, sweet smile on her lips. "I don't see anything to be ashamed of, Erik."

He started as her fingers ran over his ravaged skin. "Sorry-" she said hastily, withdrawing her hand. She looked up at him as though she expected a reproach.

He caught it in his, caressed her palm. Who was this mortal angel? It was almost impossible to believe that he held in his arms what had for so long been but a dream. "No," he breathed. "No, Christine, it's all right." How could she think she could offend him with her touch? _Don't let go, Christine. _

_Don't ever let go._

She released a soft "Oh." He saw the hint of a smile trace her features. "In that case."

He felt a tremor that shook him to the foundations of his spirit as she began anew.

"Christine, how-" he whispered when she broke the pattern, not trusting his voice to anything louder. She pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping his words. And then, to his astonishment, her voice came softly, surely into the starlight, so that its brilliance was but a chorus in the wake of her melody.

_"I have seen peace. I have seen pain _

_Resting on the shoulders of your name.  
_

_Do you see the truth through all their lies?  
_

_ Do you see the world through troubled eyes?"_

Her eyes shone with the force of her words, the forces of humanity in all its terrible disillusion and great compassion. She blazed underneath the moonlight, seeming almost to embody its subtle feminine power. It was the sunrise over the midnight battlefield that lit them, the breaking of winter, an emergence of warmth and understanding. A hand to rest upon his shoulder, to take his and lead him from his darkness.

_"And if you want to talk about it anymore,  
_

_ Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,  
_

_I'm a friend."_

A selfless offering of comfort without judgment or reservation. An empathy he had not expected to find within the wide expanse of the cold world, much less his own home.

Yet there it was.

_"I have seen birth. I have seen death.  
_

_Lived to see a lover's final breath._

_ Do you see my guilt? Should I feel fright?  
_

_Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?"_

He paused, unsure, before the light of her eyes convinced him to continue. _Christine..._

His Christine?

_"And if you want to talk about it once again,  
_

_On you I depend. I'll cry on your shoulder.  
_

_You're a friend."_

_Is this real?_ His answer was far less certain than hers, for even now he hardly dared believe. What person had never hoped for bright sunrise only to find the pale grey of a false dawn? But, as she did not move, as she remained there in his arms, the doubt wavered, like shadows under the noon sun, subsiding, fading into nothingness. And as she remained with him, questioning, offering still, he dared to answer.

**Christine**

The hesitant question in his voice pulled at her. The look of incredulity in his eyes, as though he hardly dared believe the moment to be truth, the tentative hesitation, spread a bitterness through her, a wave of empathy that radiated from the core of her. What kind of life had he known, that, even now, this might be but a dream to him? Only a false comfort before he was confronted with his waking nightmare once again?

_This is real, Erik. _

_I promise you, this is real._

_"You and I have been through many things.  
_

_I'll hold on to your heart.  
_

_I wouldn't cry for anything.  
_

_But don't go tearing your life apart."_

_Never again, Erik. I don't want to see you in pain ever again._ She could feel the beating life under his skin, sustaining a soul of such powerful and yet such fragile beauty.

She did not ever want to see that skin marred with scars of his own making.

_I won't let it happen again._ She would not allow the light that shone now behind his eyes to be diminished by darkness.

No. The light of summer would blaze unclouded.

_"I have seen fear. I have seen faith.  
_

_Seen the look of anger on your face._

_ And if you want to talk about what will be,  
_

_Come and sit with me, and cry on my shoulder._

_I'm a friend."_

His voice, gaining in surety, sent a ripple of emotion as he offered his own comfort. She felt hope begin to bloom, growing from pale seedling to tender sprout under the steadying light of his eyes.

_And if you want to talk about what will be... _A thrill traced its way up her spine, she was acutely aware of his arms around her, his heart beating against hers. _What will be... _What did the world offer with this opportunity? What limitless discoveries, what unspoken secrets would they learn?

The light of his eyes was brilliant upon her, warm, reassuring as the arms around her. Christine smiled in answer to his song, a joy that was almost painful, coalescing into a single point of focused intensity. It was that connection she sought to communicate, the wordless bond between them, not the effect, but the cause, the _need _for one to hold and be held by the other.

_"And if you want to talk about it anymore,  
_

_Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,  
_

_I'm a friend."_

Her voice evanesced and fell to the moonlight-streaked floor. She reached up, trailing her fingertips over scars and skin alike. There was no difference to her. "It doesn't matter, Erik." He covered her own hand with his, carefully, delicately; she twined her fingers with his. "It never mattered." Moved by some unknown impulse, Christine led him over to the windows. Beyond the park, the city was lit like an inverted sky, constellations of vast buildings in unflickering brilliance.

Christine leaned back against him, looking up at him. She caressed his cheek, savoring the warmth that washed over her, the steady support of his body against hers. Christine turned her eyes to the sea of lights, something akin to wistfulness stirring. "Look at it, Erik. It can be cruel and cold out there, when you're constantly forced to the darkness."

She smiled faintly and glanced back up at him, settling against him. "But- in that darkness and that loneliness, there are a thousand points of light. An infinite amount of goodness, if you only know where to look."


	22. Acerbitas

**Disclaimer: The usual. I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffliliated characters.**

** Note: 'Acerbitas' translates from Latin as 'bitterness' or 'sorrow.'**

**Thank you for all of the fantastic and supportive reviews. I appreciate each and every one. Cookies, chocolate and such to everyone who reviewed. :)  
**

**Lee **

**

* * *

**

**Acerbitas**

**Christine**

It was peaceful.

A faint golden press of light against her closed eyes, a soothing hand upon her hair, stroking in loving repetition. Christine felt a smile curving her lips, opened her eyes. The sun met her vision with a scattering of glittering motes, questing rays. Her mind woke slowly, unhurried. She lay on the divan, her head pillowed in Erik's lap.

She turned her head slightly; his hand paused on her hair, a question in the blue eyes made incandescent by the sun. The sun was unflinching on his unmasked face, but it was not that which held her riveted, the pale, living marble on the left, mangled and scarred on the right. It was not the contrast of flesh and flesh that kept her eyes on him. It would never be that, she realized.

It was the way in which he was looking at her. Such a raw longing, pure need. Adoration- her breath caught- love. But, even now, a hesitation as she awoke. The tentative hover of his hand, worrying her curls, the stillness of his body, betrayed his uncertainty. Her heart stirred, psyche straining toward him through the flesh.

She linked her hands behind his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. A flush of energy flowered through her, she was acutely aware of the sunlight that warmed her- or was it his touch? His arms slipped around her back, supporting her. Christine was almost awed by the tender reverence with which he held her. Had anyone ever touched her so softly, so deeply before? Had anyone ever held her like this before, as though she were all that mattered?

She sat up, tracing the curve of his faint smile. Curling up beside him, she lay her head on his shoulder, his intent eyes sending a rush of warmth through her. A wordless longing to be near him, touching him, drove her closer. Her hand settled over his heart, the beat of it under her hand a quiet revelation. "Did you sleep at all?"

Erik shook his head, smiling slightly. He brushed a stray hair back from her face. "No, I... I just wanted to watch you sleep. Does it trouble you?" His eyes were entirely serious.

A soft laugh escaped her. "There are worse ways to wake up." She kissed his cheek lightly. "It was... very agreeable."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Is that so, Christine?" he asked, voice soft, intimate, as he twined a chestnut curl around his fingers.

She found the combination of his voice and touch distracting; she wanted nothing more than to sink into them. Christine closed her eyes, falling back against him.

This was peace.

**Erik**

She looked so- otherworldly- as she lay against him. A loving angel, seraphim in repose. Ivory skin touched with gold under the sun, incandescent, her eyes closed, features serene. He twisted a strand of the heavy cascade of auburn, sifting the gleaming fall through his fingers, feeling her shiver slightly in response. She settled more closely against him.

Did he dare...?

He tilted her chin up with his free hand, felt a pulse of shock as his lips touched hers, like the sensation of a hot torrent of water, fading into a comforting warmth as he submerged himself within it. Her slim fingers slid through his hair in entranced fascination, inflicting a joy that was almost painful, that- in the light of day, she met him still, touched him with equal longing. It was both soothing and intoxicating, the reality of her body against his. He was drunk on her, a mortal that had tasted the ambrosia of the Heaven, and now felt all things ashen in its absence.

He pulled back; her eyes opened slowly, entranced, glowing. They shimmered with a hazy brilliance, the luster of sunlight through mist. Warm mahogany, gazing back at him with wonder and care. She took his hand, stood. He joined her at the gentle tug of her hand. She led him down the hall, the skylights gilding them with the misty light of dawn. His arm slid around her shoulders; she leaned against him in answer. Passing through the living room, she slid the door open, looking up briefly into his eyes in the reflection in the glass, before going out onto the terrace. The amber dawn washed over her shoulder, creating a strange halo of flame-like light over her pale skin.

He hesitated. She looked back into his eyes, smiled slightly. "It's all right, Erik." Her mahogany eyes spoke a promise. She held out her hand once more, and, after a moment's hesitation, he took it.

Erik stepped out into the sun, the scents of summer hanging languidly in the dawn air, drifting on a light breeze. The leaves of some climbing vine blended into the verdant park beyond. He had stood here sometimes, under clouded moonlight, safe under the obscurity of its play of light and shadow. But never in the light of day. The dawn touched the leaves with gold, an incandescent brilliance around the serated edges. Under the golden light, it seemed a lost Garden of Paradise, some small corner of Eden. A strange sense of mysticism descended, he had never stood within the green arbor under the golden light of dawn. It breathed growth, renewal, surrounding them in a mystery as subtle and potent as music.

He seated himself beside her, running a hand over the smooth wood, just beginning to warm under the tentative fingers of the sun. She took both his hands in hers, held them loosely, gently. "Erik, may we talk about something?"

He caressed the back of them, tinted with pale amber in the early sunlight. Her eyes were questioning, faintly troubled. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Anything you wish, Christine."

**Christine**

She sat up a little straighter, eyes intent. She slid back the white sleeve to reveal his neatly bandaged wrist. "I want to talk about this, Erik." Her hands cradled his wrist, gently, as though she held a young bird, tentative over his exposed skin, pale and smooth as the skin under the gauze was not.

She saw a mometary flicker of surprise in his face. He seemed slightly more wary now, his relaxation melting into a faint air of tension, some chary predator poised for flight. His eyes searched hers, touched golden with dawn, uncertain, the currents in them like light-crowned waves.

But he did not move away. She took this as a sign to continue, keeping her hold on his wrist loose, lightly brushing her fingers over the exposed skin. "Would you tell me why? Why you did this? I still don't understand."_ I want to know why you've been hurting yourself, Erik. I want to know- so it won't happen again._

_ So I won't ever see you hurt again._

His lips moved briefly in something bearing only faint resemblance to a smile. As though he found the idea that she would comprehend his darkness next to impossible; a gesture that caused a part of her to smolder. Had he forgotten her own losses? While Christine had never known the darkness of blood shed under nightfall, she understood the pain and apathy that could spawn it. It was true that she could not understand _why_ he had chosen this way, but she understood the dark road that had led him to the differing paths of which it was one way. Whatever he thought, she was not so innocent or ignorant as that. She was ready to tell him as much, when another thought struck her.

_He doesn't see what he does to himself as darkness. He sees himself as the darkness... and he could never imagine me as dark._ Small wonder, then, that he didn't expect her to understand.

She inhaled, let it out slowly, and continued with a quieter, milder query. "Why this, Erik?" _Can you trust me?_ Was it possible that now, after last night, she could get him to open to her?

She could only hope.

He took a steadying breath. His voice was quiet, calm. Collected. "It's... it was a matter of self-control. If I could shed my own blood so easily, if I could withstand the pain I could inflict upon myself, who else could harm me? If I could learn to master pain, I could make myself immune to it. If I could learn such self-control, no one could break it. Or me." he ended softly. His eyes met hers, unwavering. He seemed to be waiting for her response, wary, a hum of tension infusing the early air.

A shiver traced her spine at the ring of truth in his voice, this quiet confession and conviction. _How in heaven... how can he say such things? _How, with his twisted logic, could he have convinced himself of this? Christine had heard the adage that pain made one stronger- but to inflict that pain on oneself on purpose? The idea snatched her breath from her throat, chilled her with cold like streaks of ice melting through her body. To purposely hurt oneself in a mad chase, a vain effort for stability and strength... _How can he believe such things?_

She sought his eyes with hers, piercing the clear blue in an effort to meet the soul behind. "It's not healthy, Erik." She felt his hand tense in hers as she continued, her words coming faster, flooding like water from a shattered vase, uncontrollable, inevitable in the wake of the consuming deluge of her emotions. "It's wrong- for God's sake, Erik, this doesn't make you stronger." Her hands had tightened on his wrist, try as she might, she could not force them to relax. Her voice held only the barest semblence of calm, riddled as it was with desperation. "It's twisting you!" _Oh, Erik, how can you believe such things?_

Her breath was coming faster now, heart beginning to speed. She knew she should keep calm. Yet, in the face of this, seeing the path of self-destruction he had strayed down, how could she? The urge to bring him back from his shadows was overwhelming, insatiable, overcoming reason and composure. The voice within her was at a roar, sweeping judgement and logic aside.

He drew back from her. "Who are you to judge me, Christine?" His voice was cool, distant. His eyes blazed with the war of emotions he would not allow his voice to convey, summer skies flickering with storms. She felt his old guards rising in response to her outburst.

Her skin prickled in the light breeze, the air crackling with faint electricity. "I am not judging you, Erik." _Never that. _A sense of urgency overtook her. She fought to keep her voice calm. She couldn't lose him now. If she were to fail to reach him, to make him understand, what disaster would occur? She couldn't even imagine his reaction. Would he stay? Would he go? Would he argue with her, or merely run from what she was trying to tell him?

"You're giving a fine impression of it." he replied softly. But the quiet of his voice could not mask the darkness. An undercurrent had entered his voice, a strange intensity that she could not yet decipher. He stood, putting distance between them.

Christine felt more than a little exasperated at her apparent powerlessness in the situation. "Erik, I'm trying to understand! I'm trying to help you!" She stood, stepped toward him._ I love you- won't you let me help you?_

His voice overran hers, heated as he stepped away from her. "I don't need you to fix me, Christine!" The blue eyes blazed with things she could not even begin to define- hurt, anger, pride, a strange longing. It was an odd play of light and shadow in his eyes, desire and denial.

Her heart tightened, rebelling against his withdrawal._ Damn your pride, Erik. _"Well you clearly weren't going to help yourself!" The words were snatched out of her before she could take them back.

But now- looking at his face, she wished she could. _Shit. Why did I-_

A moment of silence stretched, a moment in which she wondered if she had ruined this completely._ Erik?_ She reached out to him tentatively, fingers brushing his sleeve. _Erik?_ She didn't know whether she spoke his name or not, only that he tensed under her hand.

He met her eyes with ones that were a storm of regret, longing. Something akin to anger, desperation. There was bitterness in the set of his mouth, the stillness of him. "No." His voice was quiet, completely drained of all emotion. "I helped you."

She stood there as he left. It had never been more tempting to go after him, to drag him back from the shadows he clung to so stubbornly. Christine started after him, halted. _No._ Not now. If she went after him now, whatever she tried to say would only fuel the hurt between them. It was the last thing she needed to do. _No. He needs to cool off, and... so do I._

Before she went after him and did something even more monumentally stupid.

Dimly, she heard the sound of something breaking. Christine winced._ Why_ couldn't she have been more tactful, less hysteric about this? Why couldn't she have told him that it wasn't him she feared or distrusted, it was the shadow he had succumbed to. Had she alienated him completely, with her inability to help him or make him understand?

_Time will tell_. She leaned against the rail, the metal a cool pressure on her arms. Christine clung to the sensation, grounding her in the whirlwind of emotion. She willed the turbulence inside to still patience._ Only time will tell, Christine._

For now, all she could do was wait.

**Erik**

_"It's not healthy, Erik. It's wrong- for God's sake, Erik, this doesn't make you stronger." The pain, the almost frantic concern in her eyes and voice. Her fingers dug into his skin, tense, stiff. "It's twisting you!" _

_The sound of her speeding breath filled the silence. Her worry filled the air, a troubled, dissonant aura around them, whispering through the sunlit leaves. _

But, Erik thought as he recalled her words, wasn't he twisted already? Wasn't that what had driven him to this in the first place? Didn't she understand what his control meant to him, the great calm, safety, it represented?

_ But,_ whispered a voice in the back of his mind, _what if she's right?_

_Like hell._ As understanding, as compassionate as she was, as much as he loved her, Christine did not realize the number of times it had saved him from a greater darkness. As much as he longed to have her in his life, he did not wish to bring her into his darkness. She had never lived under his nightfall, and never would.

And yet she still entered it fearlessly. A thread of guilt twined through him at the remembrance. The storming night when she had crossed his threshold and joined her voice to his for no other purpose than to comfort. For no other reason than that she cared.

_You shouldn't have been so harsh with her. _

And how on earth he was to fix that, he had no idea. As well as he knew her, as much as he loved her, there were times when he had no idea what to say or do. Times when her ability to transcend his barriers, when she found his vulnerability, that he reacted out of pure survivalist instinct.

And so he ended up hurting her.

_You held her in your arms during the night, and managed to alienate her the following morning. Well done, Erik._

The day passed slowly, awkward, as they passed each other in the hall. She could not quite seem to meet his eyes, and in all due fairness, he couldn't hold hers either. There was a strained sort of silence between them, an abbreviated attempt to touch, cut off as they pulled back in uncertainty. Words could not be found- not that they were needed. They saw enough in eyes and the subtle language of the body. He saw the pained look in her eyes as she realized that he wore the mask once more.

But only words could heal this. Words that he could not seem to find.

How he was to erase that pain, to release what had so long been a comfort to him, he didn't know. He still had trouble understanding why she would prefer him not to wear the mask, even if he could accept that she didn't want him to. But... how to explain that to her, he didn't know. In the wake of that morning, it was difficult to find the words to heal this when his earlier words had done nothing but hurt her.

Why, when he had used them all his life, were words so cursed difficult now? Why did they flee him at a single glance of her troubled eyes?

The piano beckoned invitingly under the moonlight. It at least, he could understand. Through it, there was never any doubt, no stumble in the speech of song. No chance of miscommunication. It allowed an apology that he could not seem to find the words for. She had always understood when he spoke to her through music.

And even when he had not been speaking to her.

His music swiftly took a darker turn as he poured his regret into it, knowing that she would hear it, quick, dissonant. His apology, his concern. Reaching for her once more, seeking to touch her with the notes of his soul. Not calling, merely brushing the mind with tentative remorse. Not searing, only brushing with the heat of the fire. He sought to emulate that rain-filled night, where she had joined her voice to his, reassuring him, comforting him.

Could this comfort her?

He had no doubt she would understand the meaning of the music, should she hear it. What she would do, he had no idea. Whether this would be enough to heal what had been torn, he didn't know.

He recalled the hysteria of her breathing, the wide eyes so bright on his this morning.

_Was that fear?_

A trace of wondering rose, spiraling from the depths of the subconscious to the surface of his waking mind. Did she fear _for_ him?

His heart seemed to still. If that was true, what had he done to her today?

He left the piano, drifting ghostlike down the hall to her room. It seemed monumental, as though he walked in some ancient ruin, dusted with the sands of time, heavy air that had not heard the echo of a footfall for an eon. Even the shadows were unmoving, laying silent and blanketing with thick darkness.

She was deep in the grips of sleep, as he watched her. The moonlight gleamed on her carelessly tumbled chestnut curls and ivory skin. An odd, serene melancholy lit her face. _Christine._ His Christine. What disservice had he done her, she who only wanted to help him? Had he truly frightened her with his penchant- his all-consuming need for self-control?

If that was true... _Tomorrow. Let her sleep tonight. Talk to her tomorrow._

Erik caressed the back of her hand lightly. "I'm sorry, Christine." His voice was less than a whisper, hanging like fragile silk upon the air. His eyes searched her face, the features calm in repose, lashes still, breathing deep and even. And yet, even as she slept, there was sadness in her features. He brushed his fingers over her palm lightly, a sympathy for the young woman who continuelly drew him from darkness rising._ Christine._

Her fingers curled around his in sleep.

**Raoul**

Her innocence. Her altruism.

These were the things that had first attracted him to Christine Daae. The way her dark eyes lit with wistfulness one moment and concern the next. Much as_ hers_ had.

Looking at the photograph, he could see it in her eyes. The bright sky was soft against her profile, her faraway eyes. An errant strand flickered over her ivory skin, gleaming copper where the sun struck it. She seemed not to notice it, her intensity focused on something beyond the physical world.

She had not noticed that he had taken the photograph until after the fact. After she heard the click, pulled from her dream-world, she had given him an odd smile that he could not decipher. It had not quite reached her eyes, in which there was almost a tragedy, compassion

He wished she had smiled for him, _truly_ smiled, the break of sunlight over the horizon. When she did, it evoked a strong nostalgia that he would cling to, a strangely intense joy that recalled something just beyond his reach.

He wished she would smile for him.


	23. Avow

**Disclaimer: Comes standard. I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.**

**To everyone who read, thank you. To those of you who reviewed, thank you again. **

**Lee **

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* * *

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**Avow**

**Christine**

It was the gentle touch of skin on skin that woke her, the barest brush over the back of her hand. She stirred, and the hand on hers stilled, hesitant.

Christine shifted, glancing up at the man who looked at her with brilliant eyes. A flush spread over her cheeks as she remembered their last conversation. Sitting on her bed, he was so close, close as she had feared they might not be so soon after their argument. She could swear he he could feel the confusion running underneath her skin. Whether or not she ought to reach out, she didn't know. She wanted to, longed to hear his heartbeat merge with hers once more, but... How could she be sure he would not run from her words again? Christine sat up, her movements awkward and uncertain.

Erik didn't seem to notice. His eyes spoke apology, love. And yet, reflected in them, she saw her own unsurety. She felt a questioning rise in her, an uncertainty in the breadth of the moment. She hesitated in the silence, then the words slipped out of her unthinkingly.

"I'm sorry. For what I said yesterday." Her voice was a dry whisper.

His eyes flickered downward, fingers pausing on hers. "It's all right, Christine. You... may have been right in saying it." His voice was calm, but behind the soft velvet she heard a silent struggle, as though he still warred with himself over her words, fought to speak through his own barriers. The blue eyes were still downcast, gleaming softly under the morning light, thoughts swirling through them like ripples through a disturbed pool, leaving echoing imprints on the surface.

_At least he's stopped running_. she thought dazedly. She wished she could reach beyond that surface, into the mind and soul behind. A kind of tension strained between them, made of all the things they could not seem to say and the resulting tangling of their emotions. She wanted to touch him, to hold him, but the heavy atmosphere in the room weighed down on her, stifling her attempts to reach out to him before thought could become action.

He continued quietly, voice slightly strained. "About what _I_ said..." He did not seem able to look at her, eyes fixed in determind study of the floor. He halted, seeming unsure of how to go about apologizing to her. She got the impression he didn't do it very often. His body betrayed his tension as he searched for words.

Oddly enough, it was his discomfort that eased her. Christine felt a slight smile curve her lips, the grey stillness of the air lifting like rain dispersing into light mist. She didn't need to hear the rest. It was enough to know that he, who she knew was not a man for apology, was trying to rebuild what lay between them, that he was the first one to reach out and make amends this time. It was enough to know that he cared and, whatever his difficulty in saying it, he regretted as much as she the harsh words that had passed between them.

Christine didn't need any more than that.

She spared him the struggle, entwining her fingers with his, savoring the light touch. Warmth flowered, trailing up her spine, a kind of lightness that hovered on the brink of wondering laughter. Christine felt a vague gratitude for whatever had brought him back to her, eased confusion into serenity. "It doesn't matter, Erik."

"Christine," he tried again, and she smiled at his awkward determination. It was endearing, but also, oddly sad in a way she could not quite define. As though he felt his words to her yesterday some kind of sin to repent for, some sacrilegious transgression. His eyes were strangely pleading, as though he could not quite believe that he had received her forgiveness so easily, as though he thought there should be some kind of atonement. There was a slight flush under his skin, a certain breathless tension with which he held himself. As though he feared he would he would lose her so easily, and longed to bring her back to him. As though he thought she might still doubt him if he did not speak.

_ Somehow, I don't think that will happen, Erik_. Christine sat up, slid under his arm. "It doesn't matter." She kept her eyes steady on his, promising. Gradually, the tension drained from him, the visible, unmasked side of his face relaxed. Christine lay her head against his shoulder, reveling in the feel of his warm heartbeat. It didn't matter.

He said it anyway. "I should have listened to you, Christine; I owe you that. I'm sorry." He touched her hair tentatively, gently brushing a few wayward strands back from her face. She marveled at the way her brow fitted so perfectly against the hollow of his neck, his arm over her. The strange sense of rightness about this moment, fulfillment. Completion, a solstice, the golden eye of the sun finally at its zenith in the noon sky.

_Let it stay. Let this stay._ She looked up at him imploringly, voice low, hesitant. "Just- promise me one thing, Erik. Promise me you won't do it again."

**Erik**

Her eyes were brilliant, bright on his. He could feel her reaching out to him, her spirit a potent force that belied the lissome body against his. "Do what, Christine?" he asked.

"Hurt yourself. Erik- it scares me. I don't..." her hands balled into fists, kneading the smooth fabric of his shirt. Her eyes were touched amber by the sun, endless springs; the same sunlight gilding her troubled, upturned face with dawn. He felt her tense against him, her body drawing closer to his almost unconsciously, warm as glowing embers. Even in uncertainty, it was him she turned to for comfort. "I don't like to watch you running from me. When I see you surrounding yourself in darkness... it frightens me, Erik." Her voice was strangled, throaty with the emotion that surfaced in her mahogany eyes. A silent plea stirred in their depths.

He kissed her forehead, tracing her jawline and lifting her face. The overwhelming longing he saw there, a sheer need for comfort, flooded him, an incredible sadness spilling through him as her autumnal eyes met his. _Oh, Christine._ Didn't she know that he would never desire to frighten her? He brought her closer to him, his hold on her tightening, comforting. He brushed a kiss over her cheek, reassuring her. He could feel her breath shaking as it left her body. "Don't be frightened." Erik traced the line of her neck, lifting her eyes to his. And, for a moment, words were powerless.

She turned his head to hers, her veneer of control shattered as her lips met his in sudden desperation. Surprise jumped through him as she molded her body to his, clinging to him. Her charged, clarion emotions rang through him, her need, her desire, her fear, carrying like music over open water and resounding through him. It bordered on dangerous, he could lose himself in this complete immersion. It was a lightning-struck sea that he succumbed to now, a state of turbulent, surging instinct.

But he was not the one in danger of drowning. He stroked her back, holding her, soothing wordlessly. He could feel her heartbeat jump under her skin, a humming under his fingertips. Taut against him, holding herself to him as though that simple gesture would keep him with her. In her, he felt the fear so familiar, the fear of loss, burning. It flared much as his had, fueled by desperation. Her embrace was defiance, a promise she would never let him go.

She broke the kiss, breathless, but did not move away, fingers moving through his hair in fevered intensity, as though only that repetitive motion could soothe her. "Promise me." she whispered. Her turmoil reached out and suffused him like flames, the panic that gleamed behind her eyes touching a chord within him, echoing like wind chimes over a fierce gale. The warmth of her body was a living pulse, touched with myriad emotions that he could not seem to name.

"I-"

"Promise me!" Her hands fell to his shoulders, clenched tightly, her voice broke. He felt the taut grip of them, stronger than he would have thought a woman of her stature to be, digging sharply against his shoulders and collarbone. Her eyes were almost hypnotic in their torment, copper and blazing under the dawn light. She stroked the hair back from his face then, her hands gentling, her eyes never leaving his. The focused clarity in them froze him; for a moment, he forgot to breathe. The fragility and devotion conveyed with that simple gesture alone was staggering. "Please, Erik- no more darkness." Her voice calmed to a low murmur. "Let me be your light." Her eyes sought his, steadying, offering. She waited.

He caressed her cheek, soothing her with voice and touch. "You always have been." _Always, Christine_. Her gentle exhale and soft smile were reply enough. The air around them seemed now less an oppressive weight than a shroud of peace.

As she reached up and held his hand against her cheek, the thought struck him. Looking at her now, her eyes closed in something that was both serenity and need, a clinging to the moment.

Was his control worth her fear?

Was it worth it, that he should frighten her with his dark ritual when she offered to protect him? Was it worth it to see the apprehension, the desperation in the eyes of the woman who loved him- whom he loved? Was it worth it, when he could lose this, lose her?

Was it worth her happiness?

No. It would never be worth that.

He felt her fingers lift the mask, a breath of air rushing over the exposed scars, the sudden warmth of sunlight. Involuntarily, he felt himself freeze, his heart suddenly racing in a still body. Christine hushed him wordlessly, turning his face to hers. Glancing at her, unsure, but somehow trusting still, he was met with her tentative smile. His eyes closed as her fingers moved in loving surety, a gentle caress. "Erik," she whispered, "look at me. Trust me."

He obeyed, half-entranced by her soft voice, the warm touch of her fingertips. She did not recoil from touching him... Erik heard his own breath shudder as she continued softly, autumnal eyes lit with a steady radiance. "You don't need your control with me. I will never hurt you. And I don't ever want to see you hurting yourself."

She kissed him softly, chastely. A gentle flow of light seemed to imbue them, scattering like dawn through mist, shafts of sunlight parting the shroud. He felt it cleansing his fears, his doubts. How could he cling to them when her lightest touch overpowered his spirit in a way the heaviest darkness never had? How could he hold to those things when she held to him? Cling to lonely shadows when she offered herself as light?

She pulled away, but her arms remained around him. "Never." she breathed against his lips. Rapture joined them now, and his promise could bind them once more. He could see her happy, he could see her smile, her laughter, and share it with her. All he had to do was promise her, and hold to that promise, and they could begin together.

If it would content her... how could he deny her anything that would bring her joy?

Perhaps he could not have done so for Nadir, but for Christine...

The eyes on him were intent, glowing in the sunrise. The light lent her an almost otherworldly vibrancy, a soft, strange radiance beneath the ivory skin. He traced her brow, her eyes half-closed under his touch. They mirrored the cares and the fears he felt pulling at him. "Erik," she began.

For Christine... He touched a finger to her lips and she ceased. Her eyes were grave, glowing in the aureate dawn, as they searched his.

"If it frightens you so..." he said to her quietly, "... than forget your fears, Christine." Resolution entered his voice, a promise that, for all the softness with which it was spoken, was meant with every moment he had loved her, would love her. "It won't happen again. Not as long as you're beside me." As long as she was with him, he would not need that control.

Only her.

For the love of her, it seemed little to relinquish, a life of lonliness cast aside for one of joy. For the sake of her happiness, it was so little to give up. He would do nothing to jeopardize the love in her eyes, and he would not cheapen what lay between them by deceiving her. Nor would he cause her pain.

_Never will I do anything to harm you, Christine. _His hand strayed through her hair, she relaxed into his touch. "Then I won't ever leave you." Her eyes met his with something of a smile, relieved, warm. He felt her hand slip into his. "Anywhere you go..."

"... you'll go too." he finished softly.

Her face was radiant as she settled in his arms. She smiled up at him; he arched a brow at her, feeling a similar expression on his face. "Anywhere, Christine?" he asked quietly.

She kissed him, lips slow, lingering. It left him breathless, as she pulled away. "Anywhere." she breathed.

**Christine**

"Christine?" he ventured sometime later. They stood in the kitchen, the scent of brewing coffee diffusing through the room. Dimly, she could hear the sounds of birdcalls.

She leaned back against him, savoring the comfort as he held her. "Mm?" Christine watched the motes of gold-lit dust stir in the streaks of light admitted through the window. Absently, she felt Erik's hand stroke her hair, an abstracted manner to it. His voice was caught between distraction and curiosity, a quiet inquiry.

"Why? Why do people fear-"

He stopped, unable to complete the sentence. Christine felt tension in the arms around her, the body at her back. She turned in his arms, some nameless, overpowering emotion flooding her body at his almost childlike query, the wistful innocence with which it was spoken. _Oh, Erik._ She looked up at him, into the intent face lit by longing, blue eyes made brilliant by the sun. Christine smiled, the gesture a little sad. Her hands slid up to cup his face, she stroked back the dark hair from the right side of his face, fingers brushing over the source of his question.

"People always fear what they can't see beyond, Erik." An ache spread throughout her at the light in his eyes, endlessly trusting, almost naive. It was a side of him she had seen rarely; one that reminded her just how vulnerable he was. "Why do you think they fear darkness?" Her voice intensified, her fingers skimmed his cheekbones. She felt a slight tremor in his body, but his eyes remained on hers, unwavering. "They don't fear the darkness itself; they fear what it may conceal. You-" She placed a hand over his heart. "You've always seen clearly in the night. So you never learned to fear it."

She kissed him lightly, unhurried. "It was never you that they feared, Erik." she murmured. He stirred as though to speak. Christine traced his lips with a finger, stopping the words before they could start.

"It was only the mask."

She relaxed into his hold, watching his eyes, distant, as he absorbed her words. The early light struck them with soft brilliance, so that they seemed almost to reflect the ascendant sun in the morning sky. Sunrise bathed his face in light, highlighting the meditative features as he looked out into the horizon. She caressed his cheek and his head turned back to her. Her look must have been questioning, for he smiled slightly, reassuringly.

Keen awareness reverberated through her as his lips lowered to hers, of his hand cradling the back of her head, twined in her heavy curls, the other tracing her spine, evoking a sweet shudder. The press of his body against hers, the warm rush through her blood. It flooded her like heat from the flames of some summer bonfire, celebratory, mystic. She sank into that warmth willingly, her spirit flaring like sparks springing heavenward.

It faded into a warm comfort as he pulled back. His eyes paused on hers, considering. At that moment, she lost all other sensation, his presence overwhelming any other facet of reality. "And what of you, Christine?" he asked softly, his voice like the caress of the sun, glowing heat against skin and soul.

She realized, dimly, that the coffee was ready. Erik did not release her, but reached past her and she watched in contented fascination as he poured a cup, sweetened it. "Did you ever fear darkness?"

Warmth unfurled through her body as his fingers brushed hers. She took the offered cup, fingers encircling it automatically. His eyes remained on hers in steady inquiry; she felt his hand on her back, stroking through her hair. Christine smiled, brushed her lips over his cheek, savoring the simple intimacy of the moment. No, she did not fear the world's idea of darkness, or even her own, anymore.

"Only until an Angel found me."

Her lips curved at the expression in his eyes, partly probing curiosity, partly something else, something inscrutable. Christine leaned back against him, her head falling to rest against his throat. His fingers brushed back the wayward curls; in sync with the soothing rise and fall of his breathing.

Christine placed a gossamer kiss against his collarbone. She felt his breath shudder, then the warm touch of the sun as he tilted her head up once more.

* * *

**Late, I know. But the weeks of exam cram are over now, and things ought to settle down again. Perhaps my AP teachers will have mercy now that exams are over? **

**Oh well. It was a thought. I'll try to keep things to a steadier schedule. Thank you for reading. If you have any comments, I'd appreciate them very much. **

**cookies, hugs, et cetera **

**Lee**


End file.
